Lost Flower
by Quinntette
Summary: ***Formerly "Landlovers"*** Jack realizes his destiny upon encountering a blessed girl with an insatiable lust for revenge.
1. Prologue

_The lantern light flickered gently, its feeble flame barely lighting the dark cabin.  The boat rocked erratically, causing the little girl's stomach to turn a bit, and she wondered what penalty her seasickness would earn her at the hands of this madman..._

_Her owner...?_

_Stealing a furtive glance at her father through the curtain of curls shrouding her pale young face, she wondered how it had come to pass that such a vile and vicious man could have won her mother's heart.  She wondered if her mother would have tried to dissuade him, prevent him from selling her only daughter off to a pirate.  Most of all, she wondered whose idea the exchange had been..._

_Her father's..._

_Or Captain Savage's?_

_"Look at me, girl," the pirate snarled, and she could do naught but obey him.  His white-bearded face was heavily scarred beneath the whiskers, and his icy blue eyes bore holes through the back of her head; she felt certain the man could see straight through her to the other side of his quarters.  "She's too young," he told her father without taking his cold eyes off her._

_"She ain't, I tells ya," he insisted, worriedly crumpling the brim of his hat in his slender, filthy hands.  "She'll fetch ye a nice price on the islands, plenty of men around wantin' a fresh young thing like 'er t' warm their beds.  And ye might as well 'ave yer way with 'er before ye be sellin' 'er off, eh Cap'n?"  His vulgar cockney chuckle sent a violent shudder coursing through her... or maybe it was simply cold, hard fear..._

_Captain Savage shook his head.  "She'll be of no good to me if she hasn't her virginity.  Has she that, Hartwell?"_

_"Aye, that she does."_

_The captain shrewdly considered his purchase, finally nodding and extending a hand to her father.  "Forty shillings?"  Her father nodded.  "We've reached an accord."_

_"No!" she shrieked, but her father's frightened backhand silenced her, sending her flying backward and into the Captain's desk, upon the corner of which she landed hard, scoring a searing pain in her temple. _

_Blackness consumed her, and she remembered naught after the blow._


	2. Stormfront

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_Sometimes, in the night I feel it_

_Near as my next breath, and yet untouchable_

_Silently, the past comes stealing_

_Like the taste of some forbidden sweet..._

~Dan Fogelberg, "Ghosts"

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**Lost Flower**

By Quinn

Chapter One: Stormfront

The Black Pearl rocked violently on the choppy Caribbean waters, tossing her inhabitants and their possessions about in their cabins.  Those on deck held tight to their posts, balancing themselves with the rhythm of the ship as she swayed.  A tropical storm was gathering force behind the Pearl, and would chase her straight into port, perhaps even carrying her in if the ship's captain didn't carefully play the hand that nature had decided to deal him.

And this seemed a likely outcome, as the captain had something else on his mind at the moment.

And something else in his hand.

Taking a generous swig of rum, Captain Jack Sparrow sprawled back across the velvet-cushioned bench in his quarters, gazing thoughtfully out the cabin window as he did.  The moon glowed orange against the blue-black sky, its vibrancy rivaled only by the lurid embers sparking at the end of his cheroot.  He lazily hung his head over the edge of the bench, allowing the blood to rush to his drunken brain as he watched dramatic lightning bolts splinter across the sky.

Jack Sparrow, for all intents and purposes, was terribly bored.

He'd spent the past year cheerfully sailing about the Spanish Main, showcasing the restoration of his beloved Pearl for any and all who cared to witness his triumph, while defending her hard-won decks from those who dared to attempt an ambush.  Menial details regarding young virtuous lovers were prudently cast aside in favor of descriptive accounts involving cursed plunder, the living dead, that single bullet and, of course, sea turtles, to ensure the awe-inspiring telling of the tale.  And for a year, Jack had greatly enjoyed the abundant wine, admiring women, and the melodious constancy of the sound of his own voice, until word had reached him in Bermuda that Will and Elizabeth were expecting a child.

Well, that was dandy.  A new step for Turner and the little lass indicated that it was indeed time for Captain Jack Sparrow to turn his rudder as well.  The question, however, remained: whereto?

Stolen ship salvaged, mutinous mate murdered, flattering folklore founded, and so on and so forth, and what remained for Captain Jack Sparrow, what awaited him on the horizon?  As he smoked his cheroot, Captain Jack Sparrow began to wonder if the fire in his belly had suddenly burned out.  

The rum swished about inside its bottle, lapping at the sides much as the mighty sea lapped the hull of the Pearl.  Jack's head swam as he lounged, contemplating his plight.  What was the greatest pirate in the Caribbean to do now that the excitement had died down?  How was he to follow up such a stunning adventure, such a legendary tale?  Quite a notch in his belt, it'd been, he had to admit.  He scratched his chin thoughtfully, indulging his imagination a moment as he idly twirled his beard.  He would have to cook up a great scheme, make the impossible voyage, horde the impossible swag.  Perhaps he could pronounce himself king of some exotic, uncharted island...

Reaching into the folds of his coat, Jack Sparrow retrieved his trusty compass, examining its wayward needle with drunken eyes.

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She awoke with a violent start, as she often did, around midnight.

Her blood was chilled, her palms frozen, her stomach ice.  Her teeth chattered despite the smothering humidity that swathed the night, and she reached for the down quilt at the end of her bed, drawing it up and around her shoulders before throwing her legs over the end of the mattress and touching her toes to the scratched wooden floor.  

Padding softly to the window, the sight stole her breath, and for a moment, the briefest moment, Aveline thought she might faint.

Far off on the horizon, barely recognizable except to the keenest of eyes, brewed a storm.  It seemed to lurk there, a predator stalking its prey, throwing down the occasional shard of white lightning to crack the smooth black eggshell of the night sky and prick the soft, flawless face of the Caribbean Sea.  The storm's corrupt hand would not strike Port Royal until the following eve, yet when it did, Aveline knew, the devastation to the immaculate little outpost would be great.

As she gazed upon the slowly growing tempest, her green eyes darkened, and she felt certain the storm was taunting her.  Would nature dare to interfere with her carefully laid plans?  Tomorrow afternoon, a trade ship would depart from the port bound for Tortuga, and hidden within its hull, Aveline would bid a long-awaited farewell to the accursed little island, for on Tortuga she would find all walks of life, mostly outcasts and fugitives, and all of them willing to escort a woman across the Atlantic and to Le Havre for the right price...

Or so, she had firmly convinced herself.

Clutching the blanket tighter around her bare shoulders, Aveline watched the gale fester with increasing consternation, the threatening tumult in the distance inspiring in her dozens of 'what ifs?' that somehow, in her months of consideration and preparation, she had failed to take into account.  _What if Faulkner comes after me?_

Stricken, Aveline paled with the realization that Faulkner _would_ come after her, and she hadn't the forethought to prevent what would now be inevitability.  If her luck held the storm at bay long enough for the ship to depart as planned the following afternoon, it would nonetheless be the only ship to leave port, and once Faulkner had combed Port Royal for her, there would be little question as to her whereabouts.  

Worrying her lip, Aveline backed away from the window and toward her bed, seating herself on the mattress' edge without turning her back on the dark scene outside.  She would have to think of something, and fast, lest her liberation be foiled before she'd even had the chance to attempt it.

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	3. Bargaining

AN:  Thanks to all who have reviewed thus far!  I appreciate the feedback.  Also, I do assure you, there is much more to dear Aveline than meets the eye.  However, you are correct in your assertion that Aveline and Jack are not going to hit it off with any sort of ease.  Glad I'm starting off from the right square, so to speak.  

And Nimuea, thank you so much for your wonderful review.  As soon as I finish this chapter, I'll be reading some of your work; I certainly owe it to you.  I look forward to writing for you, and to your continued input.  It is greatly appreciated, as is everyone's.

And the words flow...

_And the fog's liftin'_

_And the sand's shiftin'_

_I'm driftin' on out_

_Ol' Captain Ahab_

_He ain't got nothin' on me..._

~Tom Waits, "Shiver Me Timbers"

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Morning came quickly for Aveline, who'd captured barely a wink during the night.  Her joints ached from the biting chills she'd endured throughout, and it was with some pain that she rose from bed and seated herself at her dressing table.  Nonetheless, today she would have to practice perfect normalcy, not always the easiest task for Aveline Hartwell, whose wild imagination and reckless spirit often derailed her attempts at being a gentlewoman.  Of course, her ladylike persona had been imposed upon her; had her life stayed on course, she didn't doubt, she would have found herself living in a beggar's town on some hapless little isle, scraping to get by, living moment to moment...

Aveline slammed down her hairbrush, crimson anger flooding and flushing her creamy cheeks.  "I would have been happy," she told herself, as she often did.  "At least I'd have had control of my own destiny."

In her private moments, Aveline's moods were often dark and dangerous, the fury she'd oft suppressed in feigning properness and jubilance bubbling to the surface of her being.  Sliding open a drawer, she gazed in upon the object inside, which caught the sunlight through the curtain cracks and glinted invitingly.  A tiny, delicate finger traced the roughly fashioned wooden handle of the dagger, then slid along the flat of the blade.  The deadly weapon, knowing its future sheath, was her only comfort.  

Slamming the drawer in a moment of frustration, Aveline calmed herself and set back to the task of contriving her counterfeit self.   

Lord Faulkner had primped and primed her to be the perfect lady, fought to break her spirit and bridle her fury.  When he'd come across Aveline some eight years ago, she'd been a vehement little shrew, unkempt and uncultured.  However, she had no past, at least none that she would share with the likes of the nobleman, and in her fierce green eyes, he had seen naught but opportunity.   An earl with nothing, his heavy gambling losses had cost him his vast estate, and with it, his social prestige.  No wise man would marry his daughter off to him, lest they waste her valuable dowry on the pathetic man, and if he couldn't take advantage of a father-in-law, then Faulkner would resort to other measures.

He would _become_ one himself.

Beautiful little Aveline would one day surely fetch some young gentleman's heart, large dowry or no, and so Faulkner had adopted her as his daughter, accepting generous loans in order to prepare her for admittance into society.  It was a covert operation of sorts, however, since Faulkner was a noted social outcast about London, and so he'd taken her to the Caribbean and invited various suitors to inspect her away from the prying eyes of London's hens.  The dehumanization of it all had nearly crushed Aveline's fervor, but she clandestinely rebelled against Faulkner's plan, foiling every potential engagement she'd been offered via one mean or another.  And rather than submit herself to the depression that oft threatened to consume her, she replenished her fading lust for life with a different lust...

That for revenge.

Grasping the carved wooden handle of her hairbrush once more, Aveline ran the soft bristles over her golden-brown curls until they could be considered nothing short of lustrous, then began weaving them into a loose, elegant upsweep.  Examining the style from all angles with satisfaction, she rose, beckoning for her handmaiden, and began scrutinizing her morning dresses.

_Elegant but comfortable,_ she reminded herself, anticipating the long hours she would spend cramped in some dark, dank corner, below the decks of a ship.  Gnawing her lip in contemplation, she finally selected a pale ivory muslin dress, which while a snug fit, did not necessitate the vigorous lace-up required of her other garments in order for it to stay in place.

"Good morning, Miss," Roberta greeted her as she entered her bedchamber, but gasped when she laid eyes on her beautiful mistress.  "Miss Hartwell, your hair!  You shouldn't be doing these things yourself, Miss, you know that."

"Hush, Roberta, I simply need you to lace me up.  I am quite capable of otherwise dressing myself.  You know that."

"Oh, Miss, I wish you wouldn't be so bold.  It only serves to infuriate his Lordship."

Aveline turned, observing her waiflike handmaiden with a critical eye.  "You are, nonetheless, my servant, and if all I require of you is assistance lacing my dress, then that is all the service you shall provide."  Pleased with herself, she stepped behind her dressing screen, joined momentarily by Roberta, who carried her corset. 

"Turn, Miss," she murmured, and Aveline complied.

"Loosely, please.  I needn't be gasping for air all day long."

Roberta arched a knowing eyebrow behind her mistress' back.  "Why, Miss?  What mischief have you planned?"

Aveline hesitated a moment, wondering if she should scold her or maintain her nonchalance.  "Roberta, you know better than anyone that mischief is not tolerated by 'his Lordship'.  It only serves to infuriate him."  That said, she smiled, wholly satisfied with her response.  Nothing about Aveline was more customary than her sharp tongue.  She could feel Roberta's scowling eyes boring through the back of her head, and didn't care in the least.  Better that she want to avoid her mistress today, for such negligence would provide Aveline with an increased number of opportunities to escape her care.  

"I don't know, Miss.  It has always seemed to me as though Lord Faulkner has provided you with far better treatment than you'd have received were you sold off by Captain Sa—"

"Roberta!" Aveline spun around, staring up at the slightly taller woman, warning gleaming in her malachite eyes.  "Do not finish that sentence.  We do not speak of _that man._  Your impropriety is unimaginable this morning."  Her tone was dark, almost unnatural to have come from within the lovely young lady she pretended to be. 

"I'm quite sorry, Miss.  I heed your warning."

Nodding, Aveline turned to allow her to complete her task and, once the corset had been fastened, she dismissed the intrusive woman with a wave of her hand.  She hated to treat Roberta with such disregard; however, such coarseness was a necessity today.

Alone in her bedroom once more, Aveline scrutinized her visage in the dirt-smudged mirror.  The perfect picture of elegance, she smiled contentedly before reaching for and tying on a delicate straw bonnet, hating the fashionable accessory's hold on her fragile throat.  Who would imagine a satin ribbon could be so confining?

Aveline exited her bedchamber and ventured down the small, carved wooden staircase to the first floor of the small estate.  Lord Faulkner awaited her in the entrance hall.  

"Good morning, Aveline.  I trust you'll be joining me for breakfast?"

"No, your Lordship, I will not be joining you.  I'm afraid I'm not very hungry this morning."

Lord Faulkner raised an eyebrow at her, suspicious as always of his young ward.  "No?  Then what exactly do you plan to do this morning?"

Aveline shrugged, feigning indifference.  "I'm not certain yet.  I thought perhaps I could take a morning walk along the waterline, near the harbour.  I do imagine there will be a great number of naval officers gathered there, the finest gentlemen."  She flashed an attractive smile, her eyes glinting with conspiracy as she leaned closer to the earl.  "Perhaps I might catch the eye of a handsome young lieutenant."

Immediately liking the sound of this, Faulkner nodded his head at her, offering her a smile of approval.  "Very well, Aveline.  Have Roberta accompany you.  It wouldn't do to have a proper lady traipsing about without her handmaiden."

He and Aveline turned their attention to Roberta, who had stood at polite attention near the stairs during their discussion.  "Yes, your Lordship," she replied with a customary bow of her head, but Aveline could see in the woman's blue eyes that she was sorely displeased with the notion of chasing after Aveline all day.

"It really isn't necessary, your Lordship.  Having Roberta accompany me, that is.  I mean, I believe I would be better able to attract Her Majesty's Navy _without_ having my handmaiden watching my every move.  Men are deterred by such protectiveness, you know.  Better to keep a distance than ruffle the feathers of an _earl._"

Lord Faulkner's thin lips formed a wicked grin.  "Quite right you are, Aveline.  Always thinking.  Roberta, you needn't go."

Roberta issued her young charge a skeptical look, but handed her a parasol with resignation.  "Yes, your Lordship.  Take care of yourself, Miss Hartwell.  Don't get too much sun."

"And freckle?  I wouldn't dream of it."  Her falsest smile in place, Aveline gratefully and gracefully exited the manor, making her way down the stone stairway and off toward the harbour, to scout out the harbour and make the final preparations for her getaway.

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_'KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK.'_

"Aurgh," Jack groaned, lifting his sleepy head to encounter a spinning room.  Hurricane?  Couldn't be...

_'KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK.'_  

Standing on wobbly legs, Jack staggered across the room, bumping into more than one item of furniture along his way, but to no concern.  

"Jack Sparrow, open this door!"

He rolled his eyes – Anamaria.  Wrapping long, slender fingers around the brass doorknob, he slowly turned it and opened the cabin door to reveal the bold woman in britches, who happened to be aiming a pistol at the captain's heart.  "This is about your ship, i'n't it?" he slurred, shooting her a drunken look of confidence.

Anamaria's jaw dropped.  "You're drunk again, aren't you?  We're sailing with a storm at our rudder and you're locked in your cabin drowning in rum!"

"Well... I suppose it could be worse, I mean, I could be drownin' in the Caribbean."

The angry woman huffed, shifting her weight and tightening her grip on the pistol.  "I'm not tagging along on your little leisure trips any longer, Jack.  I have tried to be patient with you, but sailing with a joke crew under a drunk captain doesn't suit me any longer."

Jack pursed his lips, a comical pout that might have been believable had he not been hung over.  "Oh, come now, love—"

"Don't call me that," she snapped.  "And you're not going to bargain with me anymore.  If you don't make good on your word in three days, then I'll be forced to take matters into my own hands."

The captain relaxed his neck, allowing his head to roll lazily to the side and causing the trinkets in his hair to jingle with the motion.  "And _how_ do you propose to do that?"

_Click._  "I'll take the Pearl."

"Commandeer.  Commandeer the Pearl."  He flashed a flattering smile as he pushed the hand that held her gun gently aside.  "An' I'll tell you, I'd really rather you didn't."

Anamaria tucked the pistol into her trousers, opting instead to point a finger at him.  "Well then, _Captain_ Jack Sparrow, I suggest you sober up and start making good on your word.  I'm not a fool, and I'm not going to wait another year for you to repay my services."

Jack arched an eyebrow in lewd contemplation.  "There are other ways I imagine I could repay your services, Anamaria.  Savvy?"  A suggestive smirk curled its way under the corners of his moustache.

_Click._  "Three days, Jack Sparrow.  Give me your word or be sayin' hello to Davy Jones."

"All right, all right.  A ship she wants, a ship she'll get.  The next one that comes along, we'll ambush 'er, throw the crew overboard, an' the vessel... is yours."  He punctuated his proclamation with a flagrant gesture of one arm, characteristic of the flamboyant pirate.

Once again, Anamaria tucked the pistol away.  "Deal."

"But," he waggled a ringed finger at her, "You'll have to sail agreeably under my command for the next three days.  And assemblin' a crew will be up to you."

"That won't be too difficult."  She turned and started away from his cabin.  "We're coming up on Tortuga."

A delighted expression graced Jack's face once Anamaria had departed.  "Ahh, Tortuga."  He took a few steps backward and re-entered his quarters, gazing out the huge windows at the ocean they'd left behind.  _"Drink up, me hearties, yo-ho..." _

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Aveline marched jubilantly toward the surf, enticed by the soft, salty foam that beckoned her at the waterline.  The sky had darkened with the coming storm, the crashing of the crystalline waves rougher than she was accustomed to.  Casting a glance over her shoulder to verify her solitude, she dropped her parasol on the sand, slipped off her shoes, and grabbed two handfuls of soft ivory muslin, hiking the skirts up to her knees that she may wade in the water a moment.  She laughed as the ocean's playful tongue laved her feet and ankles, appreciating its gentle affection.  She scrunched her toes, loving the feel of the rough sand in the tender crevices between, and she raised her chin to the horizon, allowing the sea wind to caress her face.  Only in private could Aveline be herself.  Only here, away from prying eyes, away from earls and suitors, could she drop her façade.  A gust of wind, no doubt borne from the tempest now only a hundred miles or so off shore, whipped past her, chilling and thrilling Aveline as she shut her eyes, surrendering herself to the sensation...

"Miss!  Your parasol!"

Her eyes flew open, and her head snapped in the direction of the strong voice.  A young male officer, who appeared to have been walking from the village to the harbour, was now racing across the beach in a bluecoated whir, chasing after her windborne parasol.  

_Oh, God..._

"Here you are, Miss..."  The officer walked toward her, smiling expectantly.  

"Aveline Hartwell," she replied sweetly, taking her parasol with one hand and allowing him to press a dry, gentlemanly kiss to the back of the other.  "I am much obliged..." she glanced at his coat "Lieutenant...?"

"Lieutenant-Commander Fulbright."  The Lieutenant-Commander was young, decidedly attractive, and... stiff.  His eyes were gunmetal grey, his smile warm but lackluster.  He stood at perfect attention as he addressed her, and Aveline wished she hadn't had the misfortune of making the man's acquaintance.  Having someone on the pier this afternoon who might recognize her, certainly added to the difficulty of her task, and it was no easy one to begin with.

"Thank you, Lieutenant-Commander Fulbright.  I don't know how I let it get away from me."

"Well, to begin with, you weren't holding it."

_Smile politely, bat the eyelashes once, twice..._  "Yes, well, I... I thought I might take a moment to enjoy the warm water."  _How ridiculous it sounds.  _

"Yes, and what brings a beautiful young woman such as yourself to the shoreline without a handmaiden while a storm gathers in the distance?"

"I suppose it was a tad reckless of me.  Destiny, perhaps?"

Fulbright raised a speculative eyebrow at her.  "Destiny, Miss Hartwell?"

"Well, had I come accompanied by my handmaiden, I certainly wouldn't have had the great fortune of making your acquaintance, Lieutenant-Commander."

This brought a self-assured smile to the officer's face, and Aveline mentally applauded her ability to charm.  

"Well... I ought to be going, Miss Hartwell.  But may I call on you?"

Aveline exuded false elation as though Port Royal were a stage, and Fulbright, her doting audience, armed with roses and admiration.  "It would make me tremendously happy if you would.  I live at the village's edge, in Lord Faulkner's manor.  He is my guardian."

Fulbright removed his hat, bowing to her in departure.  "I shall make a point of calling on you, Miss Hartwell.  Hold tight to your parasol."

Smiling, Aveline gave the aforementioned accessory a feminine twirl, and watched in relief as the Lieutenant-Commodore finally made his way to the harbour.  Good God, could her luck be any worse?  Having earned herself an admirer in the Royal Navy would not be to her advantage should her destination be discovered.  

At that moment, Aveline's eye caught the bowsprit of a ship appearing from behind the cliffs, and she knew at once that her ship had come in.

But how to divert Faulkner?

Desperate for new ideas as she mentally redrew her plan, Aveline scanned the harbour.  Redcoats, bluecoats... She noted her newest would-be suitor engaged in conversation with Commodore Norrington, who had spent the entire year chasing Jack Sparrow about the Spanish Main to no avail, and hanging his other, less important captives in large, public displays which would never change the fact that he had let not only Jack Sparrow, but Elizabeth Swann slip through his otherwise capable hands.  She thought him quite pathetic for dwelling on his losses.  But then, who was she to judge?

Aveline smirked.  Perhaps there was some advantage to having attracted Fulbright after all...

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Lots of Aveline, I know.  So necessary, though.  Plenty of Jack to come in Chapter 3!!  ~Q


	4. Rope

_By the way, that's a cute hat you're wearing_

_And a smile so hard to resist..._

_What's a sweetheart like you doing in a dump like this?_

~Bob Dylan, "Sweetheart Like You"

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Tortuga was alive with excitement as always, the drinking and dancing a nonstop engagement despite the brutal thunderstorm wreaking havoc on her streets.  Jack walked them with a confident swagger, at home among the scoundrels, drunkards, and whores.  The aromas of cigar smoke and whiskey, mayhem and sex tantalized him, and he issued silent thanks for the fact that he was sober enough to appreciate it.

For now.

He exchanged a knowing look with Gibbs, who walked alongside him as they approached a load tavern, outside of which stood a familiar redhead, dry beneath her gaudy parasol.

Scarlett's brilliant blue eyes beamed when she saw the now rich and famous Captain Jack Sparrow advancing on her, and she fluttered forth to cover the distance between them.  "Jack!  You've come back to us."

"Couldn't help myself, love."  He took one of her gloved hands in his sooty one, gracing it with an overdramatic kiss.  "Your beauty transcends the Caribbean."  Of Captain Sparrow's varied areas of expertise, his ability to charm was one for which he was famous. 

"Oh, stop it, Jack, you're making me blush."

Jack hid his amusement at this; with a face as heavily powdered as Scarlett's, one could undoubtedly set fire to her hair and yet see nary a hint of color in her cheeks.  

"That old gypsy woman said you'd be around soon enough, and I kept my hopes up.  Have you brought me anything, Jack?"

This first bit of information caught Jack's attention, taking full hold of it as his gaze wandered away from the redhead.  "Where might I find the old hag?"

Scarlett pursed her crimson lips in disappointment.  "She's taken up at the Arawak."

Jack nodded.  "I thank you, lovely.  Don't go getting yourself lost, now.  I'll be back."  A wink and a smile.  She returned the gesture, then turned and entered the tavern, leaving Jack and Gibbs alone.

After his long silence, Gibbs spoke, loudly to combat the thunder.  "Ahh, so you're lookin' to see the fortune teller, are ye Jack?  I was wonderin' why ye'd've sailed back to Tortuga when everybody here already knows your story."

Raising his eyebrows a bit, the younger man stared down at his first mate in scrutiny.  "Because I'm in the market for a new one.  An' she's never steered me wrong before."  That said, Jack turned on his heel and started off toward the Arawak Inn, leaving Gibbs to have a few drinks at the tavern.

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Having returned to Lord Faulkner's small estate, Aveline had managed, not without great difficulty and a tear in her dress, to sneak undetected into her bedchamber, entering through the window after having painstakingly scaled the wall.  Once inside, she paused momentarily in order to catch her breath; her ladylike upbringing had left her ill-suited for this sort of physical exertion.  She wondered how well she would manage scaling the anchor line...

_No time to think,_ she told herself, _only to act._  Her energy restored, she quickly set about her next task: quietly trashing the room.  She carefully turned over smaller pieces of furniture, tore the linen of her sheets and the gossamer of her bed curtains, and tipped over the candles atop her dressing table.  And then, the note:

Commodore,

Catch me if you can.

Captain Jack Sparrow

Aveline hadn't the faintest clue whether Captain Sparrow would ever say such a thing, nor whether he would ever bother to leave a note.  Nonetheless, she presumed, the Commodore would be anxious enough, and Faulkner desperate enough, to chase the Black Pearl around the Spanish Main in search of her; it was as good an excuse as any to go after Captain Jack.  Even if it was a ridiculous, highly unbelievable ruse...

"Thank you, Jack Sparrow."  

For an added dramatic touch, she pricked a finger and smeared a touch of blood across the faded parchment – it was utterly grotesque.  The contrast of violent red against soft beige appealed to a darker part of Aveline, and she spent longer than she should have examining the spurious note.  A crack of thunder in the distance jarred her, and looking outside, she saw that the skies had darkened, draping the early afternoon in a dismal grey shroud.  Making haste, she threw the note to the floor, fetched the dagger from her drawer, and then reached into her hope chest, retrieving a slightly heavy satchel of coins: her dowry.  She'd stolen it from Faulkner's chamber a fortnight ago, and planned to use the gold to do her bidding once she reached Tortuga.  Tying the bag around her narrow waist with a piece of rope, Aveline bid her bedchamber a final farewell, and descended the wall outside her room to return to the harbour and board her ship.

As she took off through the streets, the clouds above birthed a storm, a baptismal for Aveline as she set off to start her life anew.

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A small bribe had easily handled the Arawak's owner, and Jack scaled the inn's rickety old staircase en route to the old woman's room, mostly confident, but partly worried about the news he would soon receive.  He reached the top floor, and there she stood, clad in black and awaiting him outside her door, having anticipated his visit.  Ayida was a small woman, shrinking no doubt, her dark native skin resembling century-old leather.  Her eyes shone like polished onyxes against the stoniness of her face, and she wore the fragile silver threads of her hair in a strong braid that touched the floor behind her bare heels.  She was an Arawak herself, residing in the inn that had turned the name of her people for profit, and using her room there to practice the age-old voodoo rituals of the Haitians.  In his sober states, Jack was quite fascinated by it all.

Now, however, his mission was entirely self-centered.

Ayida flashed him a gold-toothed grin, which he returned in kind, and beckoned for him to follow her into her room.  When he'd shut the door behind him, she turned her black eyes on him in outright scrutiny.  An awkward moment passes between them and then, at last, she smiled.  

"You return sooner than I think, Jack.  I know you return, but I think after the storm."

"Well, you aren't proving yourself much of a fortune teller then, are you?"  It was intended a jest, and received as such.  She emitted a throaty, knowing laugh.

"Jack, you tell the redhead you come for her.  You lie, captain."

The fearless pirate was somewhat taken aback.  "Yes, well... Often times it proves beneficial to flatter a lass or two."

"You no try to flatter me, Jack."

"I learned my lesson last time, Ayida."  They exchanged a private glance, Jack's eyes assuring the woman that he didn't intend to cheat or rob her, and she accepted this small gesture.  Of course, she'd known then he was going to rob her, as she knew now that he wouldn't dare.

"So, what you want know, Jack?  You greatest pirate in Caribbean, why you need me?"

Jack opened his arms in a movement of surrender.  "A little guidance never hurt a man.  I can accept whatever you have to say, Ayida."

She waved a hand at him, unimpressed.  "You no need worry, Jack.  You in crossroads, but you also in line for great gift."

He arched an interested eyebrow.  "Great gift?"

"You have key to immortality soon.  You wait, Jack.  That all you need.  You no reach peak of life.  Life never end for you if you wait."

Jack closed in on her, the look in his dark eyes rather severe.  "You mean to tell me, that I'm going to live forever?"

"Yes, that what I tell you.  You live forever and ever.  Just wait.  It comes to you."

"What do I need to do?"

"Wait."

"There must be some catch.  Is there a curse?"

"No curse, just wait, you."  She waved her hand once more, instructing him to leave.  "You go, you done."

Jack reached into his pockets for a shilling or two, but Ayida vehemently shook her elderly head.  "You no pay, Jack, you no get fortune, you no get spell.  You get guidance, truth, like you ask.  Go."

Grateful, Jack removed his hat and bowed to her before taking his leave.  When he had left the voodoo woman's presence, he repressed the urge to click his heels in jubilation.  After taking a brief turn as a member of the living dead, Jack didn't disbelieve anything he was told, save Scarlett's insistence that she was capable of blushing.  No, nothing had happened to dissuade Jack from believing that it was possible for a man to live forever, and quite frankly, he rather liked the idea of it.  

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By the time Aveline reached the harbour, she found herself facing heaven's wrath, as the lightning and rain she'd watched nearing the island the previous night had finally touched its sand and soil.  She was drenched, her ivory dress as wet as it would be when she swam out to the anchor line, and her perfectly arranged upsweep had liberated several curly locks of hair to stick to the sides and back of her throat.  Outside, she felt truly awful, but inside, she was overcome with joy.  That ship was freedom.  

The storm seemed to be beating the sea, winds whipping and lightning lashing her as her surface curled and cowered away from the onslaught.  Struggling to stand against the wind, Aveline knew that swimming the few yards out to the anchor would be arduous to say the least, but noting that the pier was suitably distracted with unloading and reloading the ship, she knew this window of opportunity would be her best.  Keeping an eye on Fulbright, who was fully preoccupied with supervising the trade sailors, Aveline hiked up her skirts and waded out as she had that afternoon, jumping and dodging the waves as they rolled in, out to her knees, her hips, her ribs, until finally it was deep enough to swim.  She found an ally in the ocean current, which was running eastward and in the direction of the ship, and her only obstacle became swimming against the constant foray of incoming waves.  Several eons... no, minutes... later, she reached the side of the _Mary Alice_, and began feeling her way along the outer hull toward the rudder, near which trailed the heavy rope attached to the anchor.  

At long last, she was able to reach out and grab hold of the rope, her body beaten, her fingers splintered, her breath shallow.  As she struggled to climb up to the quarter deck, Aveline wondered if she'd have the energy in her to complete her quest, and more importantly, to satiate her all-encompassing thirst for vengeance.  For the first time, she felt as though she weren't strong, as her muscles wailed in protest of the heavy exertion to which she subjected them, and her lungs threatened to surrender their battle to supply her with much-needed air.  The wind whirled past her, sending the taut rope for an awkward toss, and as Aveline held on for life, (albeit less that dear), she swore that if she could just manage to reach the quarter deck, she would sign her soul off to the devil himself in order to complete her mission.  

For when her pathetic dagger found a warm sheath in her father's cold heart, she knew, her own death would be all that awaited her.

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_"__Maraud and embezzle, and even high-jack, drink up, me 'earties, yo ho!"_

The cheerful choruses emanating from the tavern below beckoned to Jack, inviting him to join the merriment.  Looking down at the sleeping redhead by his side, the wily captain decided that a hasty exit would be best for both of them.  After all, best not to let her grow too attached to him, seeing as she was a mere mortal...

Glancing out the window, Jack frowned at the stormy skies, for they prevented him from accurately estimating the hour.  Two o'clock?  Three?  He smiled suddenly, an intimate, cocky smile.  _Only two o'clock, and I've already managed to ensure my future greatness and secure a conquest.  _

_You've had her before, _his subconscience reminded him.

_Still, not bad for a twosies, considering she loathed me, is it,  mate?  What else is there?_

Rum.  Lots and lots of rum.

The enticement of this last notion was fleeting, for all too soon did Jack remember the next noteworthy item on his agenda.  

_Anamaria's ship.  Bloody hell..._

Ahh, qué será, será.  Slipping out of the bed and into his britches, Jack silently admitted that continuing on with his merry pirate ways was undoubtedly the select path for him.  Immortality – that could mean so many things, really, best not to be wastin' one's creativity on debating vocabulary when it was no doubt better suited to inspiring debauchery.  

_A ship she wants, a ship she gets.  All the more fun for me..._


	5. Clouds

AN:  Thanks for all the continued reviews – I greatly appreciate them.

Special thanks to Nimue for her input and to Nevoreiel for her historical help.  Much obliged, ladies.

Stokely: My apologies, for I believe it's Chapter 5 you're waiting so anxiously for, but fear not, I've already begun writing it.

***NOTE:  Be advised, this chapter could be considered a strong R.

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Who says the earth is crumbling   
And no sky is falling through   
Sometimes, I just.. can't.. die

~Alice Cooper, "Still No Air"

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When, at last, Aveline reached the deck, she crawled behind a cluster of barrels to catch her breath and examine her splintered, rope-burned hands.  Digging with her fingernails, she attempted to remove a few of the larger splinters from her tender flesh.  Physical pain was a new sensation for Aveline, who was fully accustomed to a cushioned existence.  But this was her pain - her doing - hers to deal with.

In a way, it was almost _nice._

The thumping of heavy bootheels against the deck sent her whirling around to find a handsome young sailor eying her suspiciously over the tops of the barrels.

"Well, well.  What a pretty young stowaway."

_Blast.  Caught already._

Aveline gazed up at him with wide, glassy green eyes.  Her beautifully styled hair had been ravaged by the stormy ocean; a messy, sopping mop of curls now crowned her head and clung to her neck.  Her dress was ruined, and no doubt transparent from being soaked through.  She imagined she must be a rather pathetic sight.

"How'd ye board, lass?"

Speechless, she raised her brutalized hands for him to see, as though they would convey her tale to him.  He seemed to understand.  

"I see."  He moved a few of the barrels aside so that nothing stood between them.  "Ye know I have to take ye back to sure, don't ye?"

"NO!"  She leapt forth, clutching the fabric of his trousers with desperate hands, ignoring the soreness it caused them.  "You mustn't, my life depends on it!  I'll give you anything, I have money, just take me as far as Tortuga and I swear, I _swear you'll never see nor hear from me again!"_

"No, lass, I couldn't, I–"

"For God's sake, I'm on my knees!  Good sir, if you've a touch of kindness in your heart, please, carry me as far as Tortuga.  No one will ever know!  Hide me in the hull, away from the crew, the captain will never know!"

His thin lips formed a bitter smile.  "Lass... I _am the captain."_

A crackle of thunder punctuated his statement as the gravity of Aveline's situation registered in her eyes.

"I am damned," she whispered, barely loud enough from the captain to hear.

"What happens to such a pretty thing to make her think such sordid thoughts?"

How to respond?  Aveline shook her head in exasperation.  She was tired of lying, pretending to be sweet and demure and untormented.   She hadn't the energy to present another charade of angelic malaise...

"Sir," she began, her voice taut and trembling.  "I will be straight with you.  My life has been hell; I can think of no word more suitable to describe it.  I was taken from my mother at a very young age and since then, I have been pampered and spoiled, given everything my heart could desire, though in truth I desired none of it.  All I desire, all I have _ever_ desired, is control of my own life, to make my own decisions, and not to be used as someone else's... currency."  The final word passed her clover lips with an agonized strain.  She hesitated a moment, surprised by the tension in her own voice, before continuing with increased emphasis, "This life is torturous, it suffocated me!  I will not live another day of it, so help me God!"

He stared at her in shock, concern clouding his fair features.  "Well, I..." He cleared his throat, extending a hand to help her to her feet.  "Welcome aboard the _Mary Alice,_ Miss..."

She relaxed, sitting back on her haunches, not yet taking his hand.  "Hartwell."

"Miss Hartwell.  I'm Captain Traven, Traveler to my men.  You may call me Peter if you wish."

Aveline smiled, accepting his hand and rising.  "Thank you, Captain Traven.  How can I repay you?"

In her elation, she was blind to Traveler's traveling eyes, which combed her thoroughly from head to toe, taking in the soft curve of her shoulders, the delicate swell of her breasts, the slightness of her waist, and the fullness of her hips, all displayed to him by the thin muslin of her saturated dress.  He stifled an impish grin, instead offering Aveline his arm.  

"We'll discuss that matter later, Miss Hartwell.  Let me show ye to your cabin."

A cabin!  She'd been convinced she would make her voyage to Tortuga crouched and cramped in a damp corner somewhere in the dark heart of the ship.  

"Thank you ever so much for your display of kindness, Captain Traven.  You have no idea how much it means to me."

"Well, thank ye for your display of... character.  One honest man appreciates another.  But you aren't a man, are ye?"

Her cheeks flushed.  "Well, no, of course not."  She pondered the statement a moment, but quickly dismissed it.  "I spend so much time lying, pretending to be something I'm not.  It feels so good to be honest for a change."

Traveler smiled darkly.  "I know the feeling."

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The Pearl's crew was hard at work, loading her with replenished provisions: food, gunpowder, and of course, liquor.  Duncan worked diligently, mending one of the ebony sails, while Mr. Cotton repaired a small hole in the ship's quarter deck.

Jack and Gibbs emerged from the load tavern, heavily soused and laughing despite the continued downpour.

"So, tell me, Jack.  What'd the old woman tell ye?"

Jack stepped back, sauntering about in his typically loose-jointed fashion.  "Joshamee, mate, you are looking at a soon-to-be immortal man."

Gibbs' expression twisted into one of utter disbelief.  "She couldn't have said such a thing!"

"Ahhh... but she did say it."

"Did she mean it in a, a hypothetical sense?"

Jack pursed his lips.  "Of that, I'm not entirely sure.  She said I would soon be given the key to immortality, if I kept along my merry way.  Interesting, ain't it, mate?"

"Aye, it is, Captain Jack."  Gibbs scratched his whiskers.  "I can't help but wonder her meaning.  Ye didn't think t' ask?"

"Well... I didn't want to push my luck, seeing as she'd offered up such an admirable fortune.  I figure, however she meant it, it can't be bad."

Gibbs shrugged.  "Then I suppose we 'aven't anything to worry about, eh?"

"I'd reckon not.  And I'd like to keep it so, as it were."

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"Norrington!" 

The frantic pounding on his office door brought the commodore hurrying to answer it.  Before him stood the detestable Lord Faulkner, his sunken face creased with frenzy, a weeping maid at his side.

_Good God._

"She's gone!" the debt-ridden earl blubbered as he blew past Norrington and into his office.  

"Who is gone?" the commodore asked, irritated by the pathetic display.

Faulkner pressed a dry handkerchief to his dry nose, produced a horrible honking sound, and refolded, notwithstanding, the dry handkerchief.  "My darling little Aveline!  Snatched from her bedroom by that blackguard..."

Norrington eyed the earl with military keenness.  The man's pale blue eyes were calculating beneath his worried brow, and the clever officer deduced that Faulkner was exaggerating his distress.  The maid, however, seemed legitimately upset.  "And which blackguard might that be, hmm?"

"Jack Sparrow!"

The commodore's green eyes darkened considerably, his lips pinching to form a line as thin as his patience.  "Are you quite sure?"

Faulkner gestured wildly with one arm.  "Show him the note, Roberta."

With shaking hands, Roberta reached into the front pocket of her apron, retrieving a folded piece of paper, which she then handed to the commodore.  He read it, twice, quite carefully.

"Catch me if you can," he repeated disdainfully, before crumpling up the note.  "How could Jack Sparrow have infiltrated Port Royal without my knowing about it?"

"Assemble your best men, Commodore!" Faulkner exclaimed, one useless finger pointed archly at the ceiling.  "I need her back at once!"

"Yes," Norrington drawled.  "And could you tell me when last you saw the girl?"

"This morning.  She went for a walk near the harbour.  Neither her handmaiden nor myself saw her return, though her room was obviously the site of her abduction, as it is in ruins, as well as where we found the note."

The commodore raised a prudent eyebrow.  "She went alone?"

A fiery red blush of embarrassment crept into the earl's concave cheeks.  "Well... she's a most rebellious girl, it's rather difficult to persuade her against her inclinations."

"Even in preserving her reputation?  Well, you can trust that spending any amount of time unaccompanied aboard a pirate vessel is sure to destroy what's left of it."

Roberta's soft weeping exploded into a heavy barrage of uncontrollable tears.

"Find her!" Faulkner bellowed, his complexion as scarlet as the velvet lining King Georges' throne.

Commodore Norrington intended to find her all right; rather, he intended to find Jack Sparrow.  "Lord Faulkner, you have my solemn word that I will find and return the young lady in question, and that you and all of Port Royal will see Sparrow hang for his crimes."

"See that you do."  With that, Lord Faulkner exited the commodore's office, with Roberta in tow.

Alone at last, Commodore Norrington considered  his impending success.  "The last real pirate threat in the Caribbean," he murmured darkly to himself.  "Threat indeed."

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In her tiny cabin below the decks of the Mary Alice, Aveline had quickly drifted to sleep, her physical battle with the stormy ocean having taken quite a bit out of the small woman.  She didn't rest, however, for as usual, nightmares inundated her slumber.__

Callous hands held her wrists pinned at the small of her back, rearing her backward while pushing her forth.  The pirate led her through a small maze of cabin corridors, toward the rear of the ship where resided Captain Savage.  They reached the door to his quarters, and the pirate struck the sole of his shoe against it several times rather than releasing her to knock.  The door opened, seemingly of its own accord, and she was ushered inside, her usher kicking the door closed behind them.

"Welcome, lass," Captain Savage's jagged voice greeted her, and her heart leapt into her throat at the sound.  "Ye ready for yer blessin'?"

"Blessing?" she repeated meekly, her eyes shifting from the captain to the boatswain at his side.  

"Aye, lass," the bearded man responded with a gravelly chuckle, nodding to the boatswain in silent command as he did.  She watched the second man cross the cabin to a dark corner, bend down, and hoist a dark-skinned man, bound and gagged, from the floor.  She trembled at the very sight of him.  He looked barbaric, primitive, the ivory teeth of some savage animal dangling from a hemp cord worn around his neck.  His half-clothed body was covered with strange markings, red and white lines and circles against his brown skin, and various needles and rings penetrated the flesh of his face, neck, and ears.  In all her life, she had never seen a man so frightening.  

_The boatswain untied the man and removed his gag while Savage held his pistol aimed at the dark man's head.  He handed the pistol to the boatswain and gestured to the man restraining her.  "Lay 'er out on the table."_

_White horror blinded her as she was lifted and deposited atop a map on the captain's navigation table.  The rope that had been used to bind the dark man was then tied to each of her wrists and knotted beneath the table, effectively preventing her from movement of her arms.  Her legs were held in place by the pirate, and Captain Savage held a large, cold, filthy hand over her mouth._

_"Awright, mate," Captain Savage instructed the dark man.  "Bless the girl."_

_She panted franticly against the sea captain's hand, her eyes wide as the dark man with the markings began reciting a series of foreign chants.  His eyes were angry, although they did not seem sympathetic, and she feared she should be equally as afraid of him as she was Savage.  Reaching into a small leather pouch at his side, the dark man sprinkled some sort of herb or spice over her brow, then over her throat.  Reaching into the pouch again, he removed a vial containing a red liquid, which he smeared on each of her cheeks before grabbing the hem of her skirt._

_She shrieked against the captain's palm as the dark man's fingers grazed the bare flesh of her mound, that area which she herself had never dared licentiously touch in her nine years on earth.  She tasted bile at the back of her throat as he continued applying the red liquid to the shelter of her virginity, and struggled  not to vomit into the pirate captain's hand as he clapped it harder over her mouth.  She squeezed her eyes shut to avoid the lewd gazes of the pirates surrounding the table and tensely endured the remainder of her 'blessing,' daring not even to breathe a sigh of relief when the dark man returned the hem to her ankles._

_"Are ye done?" Savage asked at last, and when the native had nodded his affirmation, the captain removed his hand from her mouth.  Able to at last, she opened her mouth and released a bloodcurdling cry..._

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	6. Confrontation

AN:  I am trying relentlessly to fix the formatting in Chapter Four.  Due to a huge amount of confusion that my italicization problems have caused, I will let you all in on a little secret:  Savage is dead.  He was hanged.  Anytime he is mentioned in the story, assume that A) it's a flashback/dream, and B) that Aveline is nine years old.  Everything involving Savage should be italicized, but FF.net says, "No, we shall create infinite difficulties for you and your readers by tampering with your necessary formatting.  MWAHAHAHA!"  SO, yeah.  Savage = dead.  Just so you're all aware.  It doesn't ruin the plot, I'm just taking me time explaining it all, savvy?  

Dearest Nimue:  Thank you eternally for your continued plot guidance.  Could have figured it out myself, indeed.  Without your suggestions, Aveline would have oh-so-dramatically slit her wrists, and I would be re-writing a version of the "Bonding Over Bandaging" scene shared between Will and Elizabeth.  So, as you can see, you have indeed saved me.  OH, and to the rest of you, if you've yet to read Nimue's "Into the Fire" and "Eye For a Bargain," make those little gems your next stops on your visit to FF.net.  Unbelievably good reads, I say.    

This one's for you, Stokes; they meet at last...

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Guiding a ship, it takes more than your skill  
It's the compass inside it's the strength of your will  
The first ensign watched as tempests all tried me  
I sang in the wind as if God were beside me  
For all we learned the sea

~Dar Williams, "We Learned the Sea"

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After some eight hours of onslaught, the tropical storm abated.  All that remained of its fury were a few palm leaves and pieces of driftwood washed up in the surf, these amputated limbs left behind as the refuge of nature's battlefield, her army seeking to conquer new territory elsewhere in the southern hemisphere.  The Caribbean was once again a flat pane of glass, her reflective surface begging to be cracked by the keel of the _Black Pearl_.  Never one to deny such a tempting invitation, the Pearl set sail just as the storm clouds parted to reveal the glimmering and ever-watchful citrine eye of the sun.

Slightly drunk at the helm, Jack Sparrow felt rejuvenated and refreshed, his belly still warm from the liquor.  Anamaria watched him carefully from her station near the fore boom, the wide brim of her hat shading her eyes from Jack's view.  He felt their gaze, though, felt them as sure as he felt the scrutiny of the sun.  

"Have ye assembled yer crew, Anamaria?" he asked smugly, knowing full-well that she had indeed.

"Aye," she replied.  "Have ye found me a ship, Sparrow?"

He feigned alarm, his performance theatrical.  "By the powers, lass!  Ye gave me three days, didn't ye?"

"Aye."

"Gimme three hours.  Ye forget, I'm Capta—"

"Captain Jack Sparrow.  Aye, I know."

Jack scowled at being deprived of his favorite line.  Before he could retort, however, he was interrupted by a sharp whistle from the crow's nest.  He glanced up at Duncan, who was acting as lookout.

"Keep your loof, Cap'n!  Ship ahoy!"

Jack grinned, offering Anamaria an arrogant profile.  "Well, fancy me overestimatin' myself.  Seems as though Captain Sparrow needs but three minutes to make good on his word."

Anamaria arched a thin eyebrow at the pretentious pirate.  "I always did peg you a minute man, _Captain _Sparrow."  With that, she abandoned her post to make ready the swivel guns for their attack.

"Bloody women," Sparrow mumbled, then shouted aloud: "Mark my words, Gibbs, ne'er again will ye see a curvy shrew aboard the _Black Pearl_!"

"Aye, Jack!" Gibbs hollered his reply.  "Mark 'em, I will!"

"Captain!" Tearlach called from the quarter deck.  "'Tis the _Mary Alice_!"

Jack pursed his lips in interest.  "Ahh, Traveler.  We've missed ye, lad."  

Peter Traven had been a thorn in the Pearl's side for the five months during which he'd manned her sails, often straying and shirking duties in order to warm the beds of many a Bahaman bonny.  Jack punished him time and again, until finally the lad tired of the treatment and abandoned the Pearl to become an 'honest sailor.'  Jack had his suspicions as to Traveler's intentions, yet the parrots did tell that the boy captained his trade ship the _Mary Alice_ with a professional air.

_'Til now,_ Jack thought complacently, steering the magnificent ship toward the young man's smaller schooner.  When he'd closed the distance betwixt them, Jack gave the order, and the first and only cannonball was fired, tearing a clean hole in the rear hull of the _Mary Alice..._

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The blast jolted Aveline from sleep, impelling her from her bed, and propelling her from one nightmare to another.  As she careened across the floor, her mind flew to another time and place, memories of another ship, another attack, distorting her perception of the present...

_"All hands on deck!  Don't let the bastards board, boys.  Protect the virgin!"_

The virgin... the virgin, the _virgin..._

In the here and now, Aveline clutched two handfuls of her hair and pulled with all her feminine might, releasing a scream horrific enough to unearth the dead... Her demons were taking hold...

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On deck, the crew of the _Black Pearl_ had wasted no time boarding the _Mary Alice,_ combat continuing hand to hand between crews.  Jack cornered Traveler immediately, spearing the young man's white lawn shirt with the point of his cutlass and pinning the _Mary Alice's_ captain to her wheel.

"Young Pete Traven, my how you've grown," Jack drawled.

"What do ye want wit' me, Sparrow?"

Jack shrugged, as though he wanted nothing with Traven at all, except to torment him for his own amusement, which was partially true, but... "I'm afraid I'm goin' to have to commandeer your ship, Petey."

"What?!"

He rolled his eyes.  "Commandeer, Pete, it's a nautical term."

"No, I mean, why?"

With a downward, sweeping motion of his arm, Jack gestured to himself, smiling handsomely as he did.  "Pirate."

"How many times do I have t' tell ye, Sparrow, I'm an honest man!"

Gibbs leaned into Traven, good-humoredly nudging his arm.  "Best be surrenderin', Traveler.  Jack hasn't made a habit o' trustin' _honest men_."

Traveler scowled in resignation, knowing he hadn't the means to ward off Jack Sparrow.  "Avast, Fletcher.  Hoist the white flag."

"But, Cap'n!" his first mate began to protest.

"Flag, Fletch."

Reluctantly, Fletcher crossed the deck and hoisted the white flag; Traven's men lowered their weapons in surrender.  

Jack turned to his crew, brandishing his cutlass as he shouted orders.  "Gibbs, make ready the gangplank!  The rest of you, gut the ship for cowards and stragglers, and tie up the prisoners!"  Grabbing Traven's arm, Jack thrust him into the waiting grasp of Mr. Cotton, who at once took about tying up the captured captain.

A ghastly sound filled the air, the unmistakable shriek of a banshee closing in on the crew.  Jack glanced about quizzically; Gibbs' eyes shifted nervously about.  Everyone else stood stiffly, silently, until the hatch flew open and Anamaria emerged, hauling behind her a belligerent young woman, who kicked and screamed continuously as she was dragged across the deck.

"By the powers," Gibbs murmured as he listened to her wail.  Only once before had such a powerful bellow befallen his ears, courtesy of a member of the female sex.

Jack was eying Traveler in amusement.  "Honest man, indeed.  Could it be that our friend Mr. Traven left the pirate life to facilitate his breakin' the pirate code wit'out our interference?"

"I didn't lay a hand on her!"

Jack nodded at Mr. Cotton, who pressed a blade against the young man's throat.  

"Like Gibbsy said..." Jack stepped right up to Traven, staring down his nose at the man, his eyes and mouth the picture of seriousness.  "I don't make a habit o' trustin' honest men."  Suddenly, a smile, almost crazed.  "Never know what they're gonna do, mate."  The wink that followed was more intimidating than it was lighthearted, and intended as such.  Traven swallowed hard, his Adam's apple scraping against the dull edge of Cotton's dagger.

"Anamaria, bring 'er here."

"Aye aye, Captain Sparrow!"

_"Sparrow?!"_  Aveline panicked; her head swam, her heart skipped, she tried to scream, but her voice evaded her.  Somewhere, in the back of her conscience, she heard a rumbling laughter, familiar to the throaty chortle of her former father.  Clenching her teeth and screwing her eyes shut, she fought to quell the horrid sound as she was deposited haplessly before Captain Sparrow by the somewhat abraded lady pirate.

Gibbs' brow creased with worry as he gave closer inspection to the girl.  He laid a hand on Jack's arm, never taking his keen eyes off Aveline.  "Jack..."

But Jack paid him no heed, as he was preoccupied with addressing the shaky lass at his feet.  "How'd ye come to be making passage with Traveler here?"

She stuttered a bit before she managed a response.  "Of my own accord.  I am a stowaway."

"I found 'er snug in a cabin, Jack," Anamaria interjected.

"Because Captain Traven sympathized with my plight!"

At this suggestion, the crew was in stitches, Jack joining in their chorus of laughter.  Only Gibbs remained still.  

"Lass, they don't call 'im 'Traveler' on account of his experience at the helm.  They call 'im 'Traveler' on account of his experience 'in the hay,' as it were."

Traven struggled against Cotton's hold in protest.  "I didn't lay a hand on 'er, Jack, I swear it!  She has money..."

"Well, her money be of no use to me, Petey.  In fact, she be of no use to me."

"Jack," Gibbs broke in again, this time grabbing his captain's attention.  "I tend t' disagree with ye on this one.  Keep the girl."

_"No!"_ Aveline screeched, her primitive shriek alive again.  She crawled toward Sparrow on tattered hands and knees, then clapped her palms together in fashion of prayer.  "I beg you, please, allow me to walk the plank with Captain Traven."  Her eyes were wild with dangerous frenzy.  Jack merely stared at her; he'd have been shocked were he capable of such an emotion.

"Why are ye so anxious to follow him to the depths, lass?"

Aveline's fraught expression clouded with confusion.  "I desire not to follow Captain Traven.  I desire to evade you!"

The crew of the Pearl burst into laughter once more, all chuckling at the absurdity of the girl's plea.  Again it was Gibbs who remained somber throughout the jovial moment.

Jack leaned over loosely that his eyes were level with Aveline's.  "Well, I'll tell ye, lass.   I'm disinclined to keep ye, especially on account o' that scream of yours."

"Oh, I shall continue to scream, Captain Sparrow, should you choose not to release me," Aveline hissed, her eyes sinister once more.  "I will scream so loudly as to attract the entire Royal Navy to your location, I swear it!"

"Jack," Gibbs interrupted once more, pulling Jack aside for conference.  "Ye'd be a fool to release her.  Ye haven't a clue what ye've found."

"Didn't I eternally swear off the presence o' curvy shrews aboard my ship?"  Jack pointed to Aveline with one long, delicate finger.  "That be a curvy shrew, mate."

"No, Jack.  That be Cap'n Savage's Lost Flower."

The dark pirate's breath caught, his shadowy eyes narrowing in piqued interest.  "Come again?" he asked, his tone flat.

"Cap'n Savage's Lost Flower.  She's a treasure in 'er own right, her value is inestimable!  An' she's –"

"The key to immortality."  Jack twirled his beard, examining her through enlightened eyes.  Her face was that of a girl, with lily-white cheeks and rose petal lips, eyes the color of holly leaves and a precious little bud of a nose.  A slender, stem-like neck attached this youthful visage to the body of a woman, Mother Nature at that, with hips to bear and breasts to nourish.  Jack found the fragile balance between woman and girl to be terribly unsettling in its incompatible union of strength and frailty, and he returned his attention to Gibbs with grave eyes.

"Are ye absolutely sure?"

"Aye.  I was sailin' under Cap'n Savage when he purchased the girl."

Jack cocked his head in inquisition.  "How is it that ye've managed to make the acquaintance of every little strumpet in the Spanish Main?"

Gibbs solemnly shook his head, his eyes shaded by heavy lids.  "I'm a very unlucky man."

"That you are, my friend."  Sympathetically clapping a hand on Gibbs' back, Jack pivoted dramatically to face both prisoners and crew.  "Crimp, you may begin riddin' Anamaria of _Captain_ Traven and crew.  Ladbroc, please escort the lady into the hull and remain with 'er until I arrive to relieve you of said post."

Nodding, Ladbroc moved to carry out his orders, hoisting Aveline to her feet and ushering her toward the hatch.

"No, man.  To the Pearl.  She be coming with us."

Parting her pretty petal lips, Aveline emitted the scream of a witch at the stake, thrashing in Ladbroc's grasp as he attempted ineffectively to haul her toward the _Mary Alice's_ edge.

"On second thought," Jack grumbled as he crossed the deck to join them.  "Maybe I'd best accompany you, seeing as ye be a rather feisty lass."

_"No!"_ Aveline howled, lunging toward Jack despite Ladbroc's firm lock around her arms and ribs and baring her teeth as though she were a lioness, protecting her young.  Jack suspected that, in some strange way, it wasn't so far from the truth.  "Take one step closer and I'll kill you.  So help me God, I will slaughter you.  It doesn't have to be now.  I will slice open your chest and turn you inside out while you sleep.  Then we shall see who is the most fearsome pirate in all the Spanish Main."

Leaning cautiously away from the spitting and snarling lass, Jack pursed his lips in quiet consideration.  _She's completely daft, crazier than... than *me.*  _Glancing at them out the corner of his eye, Jack observed the crews of both ships to be equally bewildered by the young girl's stunning display of hysterics.  Some of the boys, including Traveler, appeared to be frightened of her.  Jack paused in silent amusement at the thought of Traven making to receive payment from the girl and receiving instead a sharp bite to the jugular.  

Of course, now he would be taking that risk.

Donning his calmest expression, he looked at Labroc, whose apprehension was made evident by the knocking of his knobby knees.  "Take her aboard.  Quartetto will accompany you.  Lock her in the hull and stand guard until I return."

Ladbroc nodded, as did Quartetto, and the two latched onto Aveline and carried her over to the Black Pearl, enduring her screams of rebellion all the way.  Once they had disappeared down the hatch, Jack finally set about overseeing the disposal of the _Mary Alice's_ crew, edging Traven off the edge of the plank with his own cutlass.  The task complete, he ordered the crew not to remove any of the provisions on board, for Anamaria would need them to begin her journeys, and bid them to return to the decks of the Pearl.

"Jack, wait!" Anamaria exclaimed, rushing to catch him before he swung back to his beloved ship.  "How do you expect me to get the ship back to Tortuga to pick up my crew?"

Jack flashed her a gold and ivory grin, planting a supercilious fist against one flared hip.  "Oughtta thought o' that before ye rushed the job, love.  I leave it to you, _Captain _Anamaria... whatever your name be."  That said, he latched onto the thick rope and swung gracefully across, landing catlike on the forecastle deck. 

"Jack Sparrow, you rat!" Anamaria roared.

But the learned pirate merely removed his worn leather hat, tipping it to her with an histrionic bow.  "My condolences, love."  With one finger, he pointed to the sky, or more accurately, the wind.  "Have a care of the lee-latch, woman.  Else you'll lose 'er."  

Before Anamaria could utter her foul response, the Pearl's anchor had been hoisted and she began to drift ever-away from the _Mary Alice,_ and ever-away from Captain Anamaria... whatever her name was.


	7. Blooming

_You got to tell me, brave captain,_

_Why are the wicked so strong?_

_How do the angels get to sleep _

_When the devil leaves his porch light on?_

~Tom Waits, "Mr. Siegal"

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Shifting uncomfortably where he stood, Gibbs knocked tentatively on Jack's cabin door.  The door opened quickly, and with a flourish, Jack invited him in for a chat.  Both men assumed a seat opposite the other at the small dining table in Jack's quarters, and presumed to discuss the troubling issue at hand.

"Ye'd best be tellin' me the details of this legend, mate.  Lest I make a mess o' things with the lass."

Gibbs shook his head.  "'Tis already a mess, to be honest, Cap'n.  Very complicated, the situation with Miss Hartwell."

"Is that her name?  Hartwell?"

"Aveline Hartwell.  Aye, I remember the lass quite well.  'Tis hard to forget such a bone chilling scream.  She was all but tortured aboard that ship, what with th' 'blessing' an' all.  A few of the boys an' I were so repulsed, we immediately turned on Cap'n Savage when the _HMS Glorious_ did attack.  'Tis how I came to sail for His Majesty's Navy, under Norrington.  Did require our breakin' o' th' pirate code, but 'twasn't nothin' more than Savage 'imself were guilty of."

Jack nodded, his features sharp with interest.  "What's this 'blessing' ye speak of?"

"Don't ye know the legend at all, Jack?"

"Just the part about deflowering a virgin in the Canib Temple of Immortality, and that it guarantees immortality to he who does the deflowering.  The he being me, o' course."  A wolfish grin.

"Oh, Jack.  It ain't so simple.  The virgin must be blessed by the tribe's priest in order for the ritual to work.  Cap'n Savage abducted him upon findin' the island, and kept him aboard until he'd procured a virgin of 'is own.  After the man blessed poor little Aveline, Savage put a bullet in 'is back an' threw the man overboard.  Aye, 'twas an awful time.  He set sail for the island and was intercepted along the way.  But had he made it to his destination and brought the girl to the temple and stolen 'er virginity there, I venture to say Cap'n Savage would still be with us today, in an all-powerful form at that."

"How exactly does this bloody ritual work?"

"He who does the deflowerin' is said to absorb the life force of the blessed virgin, enablin' him to feed off it for the rest of his days, livin' ever on in his present state, lest he be otherwise killed."

Jack thoughtfully scratched his jaw.  "So the immortal man isn't really immortal."

"Oh, he's immortal.  Live forever, he will, barring any unfortunate encounters with blades, pistols, or His Majesty's Navy, if you catch me meaning."

"Aye, that I do."  Jack stood, pacing to the enormous window overlooking the Caribbean.  Night would soon be upon them, and Jack planned to have made all necessary decisions in dealing with the girl beforehand.  If he allowed himself to sleep on it, he was certain, he would change his mind a dozen times during the night.  Such is the curse of a bargaining man.  "So, all I have t' do in order to make myself immortal, as the ol' lady told me I'd be, is simply to find the island, get past the cannibals, and deflower the curvy shrew in the Temple of Immortality."

"Jack, we don't even know if she still be a virgin.  She never did give us an answer regardin' Traven, for one, and she seems to me a desperate girl, an easy target for the lad."

"I'm confident she is.  Were she not, she wouldn't be the key to my immortality, now would she?"

The older man shook his head.  "I'm not so sure."

"Well, leave that little detail up to me, man.  I have a way with women."  He grinned suggestively, the expression received only by his reflection in the thick panes of glass.

Gibbs grumbled a bit.  "How do ye plan on deflowerin' the girl without breakin' the Pirate's Code?"

Jack Sparrow turned to his friend, brow furrowed and eyes wide in disbelief.  "By the devil, I 'adn't thought o' that.  What would I do without ye, Joshamee?"

To this question, Gibbs had no response.

"She'll never go willingly.  I suppose I'll have t' seduce the lass."

"Oh, Lord, Jack, ye can't be serious."

A wink and a smile, courtesy of the daft Captain Sparrow.  "Aye, that I am, mate.  I'm Captain Jack Sparrow, ain't a challenge too grand for me.  Savvy?"

"Of course there ain't, Jack, but... Well, what about the girl?"

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The storm's impact on Port Royal had indeed been devastating, and Norrington's sailors rushed about, attempting to both repair the sails and swab the decks of the _Dauntless_.  Lord Faulkner stood idly by as Norrington oversaw the preparations, nervously wringing his white-gloved hands.

"Well, what of your progress, Commodore?  When do you plan on setting sail?"

"In due time," Norrington replied tersely, his irritation with the interfering earl festering like an open sore beneath the creaseless bandage of his composed veneer.  Tying the knot a little tighter, the accomplished officer continued to endure further harassment.

"In due time, in due time!  What about Aveline?  Her reputation is at stake, Commodore, you said so yourself!"

Norrington clenched his jaw.  "I'm quite certain that Sparrow has yet to harm Miss Hartwell.  This is a game, your Lordship, intended to provoke me into a chase, and not until he's certain of my attention will he attempt to disgrace your daughter."

Lord Faulkner opened his mouth to object once more, but was interrupted by a melodious male voice.

"Commodore Norrington, sir, did I hear you mention a Miss Hartwell?"

Both men turned in the direction of the voice, which belonged to a staggered and clearly distraught Lieutenant-Commander Alastair Fulbright.  

"I did, Lieutenant-Commander Fulbright.  Know you something of the young woman that may aid in her recovery?"

"Recovery from what, Commodore?"

Norrington rolled his eyes.  "From the clutches of that villain Sparrow."

"He's abducted her!" Faulkner exclaimed, waving his handkerchief for exaggerated effect.

"How could that be?  I only made the acquaintance of Miss Hartwell this afternoon, I... How could she have disappeared so quickly?"

A knowing look passed fleetingly over the face of her guardian.  "Made her acquaintance, you say?  And what did you think of my little angel?  Darling, isn't she?"

Fulbright's cheeks reddened, and he cleared his throat while he assembled his propriety and attempted to reassume the unruffled demeanor expected of all British officers.  "I was rather taken by the young lady, yes, and did request permission to call on her."

"Oh, yes, of course, Lieutenant-Commander.  You are always welcome in our home."  Faulkner offered a buoyant smile, which was quite abruptly dashed away by the stern look Norrington cast in his direction. 

"I will remind you, Lord Faulkner, that in order for the Lieutenant-Commander to court your daughter, she must first be returned safely to Port Royal."

Mock severity darkened the earl's jubilant eyes.  "Of course, Commodore.  You needn't remind me."

"Commodore Norrington, I request permission to accompany you on your quest to locate Miss Hartwell.  I will rest better at night knowing that I am actively involved in recovering the young woman and returning her safely to the care of Lord Faulkner."

Norrington nodded.  "As you like, Lieutenant-Commander.  I'm certain that your motivated presence onboard will no doubt assist us in capturing Sparrow."

"Thank you, Commodore."  Fulbright marched down the pier and proceeded to board the _Dauntless_, Norrington's impassive brown eyes following his every movement.

_Have the lady if you like, Lieutenant-Commander.  But you'll not steal the glory..._

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Huddled on the floor of the tiny iron cell below the decks of the Pearl, Aveline encircled her knees with trembling arms and rocked gently, much as she had for the greater duration of her captivity aboard Captain Savage's ship.  Ladbroc had stripped her of both her dowry and her dagger, and the helplessness that had seeped in at the loss of the latter had all but paralyzed her.  Closing her eyes, she wrestled with memories and coaxed out the bittersweet recollection of her mother's tender voice, singing her children's songs.  The French words were foreign and indefinable, yet the most comforting ones Aveline knew.  She whispered them as she rocked:

"Il était une fois une fleur  
Elle s'ouvre un peu, beaucoup   
Un papillon arrive, il se pose sur la fleur..."

Reaching toward the rusty iron cage, she traced her fingertip along the grating, following her movements with great interest.  
"Hum! que ça sent bon  
Le papillon s'envole et il disparait   
la fleur se referme, se fane et elle disparait..."

The unmistakable sound of approaching footsteps ended her song, and Aveline raised her chin and watched apprehensively as Captain Jack Sparrow boldly entered the room.  She moved nary an inch otherwise, rose not to greet him, but rather gave close assessment to his manner and attire.  He donned the dark blue, gold-trimmed damask waistcoat of a London gentleman, impressive albeit having been weathered by the pirate's numerous adventures.  A few white ruffles of a lawn tunic peeked out from behind a grey vest and over his embroidered lapels, and black breeches and boots clothed his lower half.  He wore his battered brown leather tri-corner hat atop his head, the edge of the red silk scarf wrapped beneath it lining the top of his brow.  A bulge near his right hip alerted her to the presence of his flintlock pistol, and she knew he carried a cutlass; she'd witnessed it for herself aboard Traven's ship.  

"What be ye singin', lass?"

Aveline remained silent; it seemed her only defense.

Nodding to himself as though he'd expected such a reaction from her, Jack crouched down beside the cell, his legs bent at the knee and parted like the wings of a butterfly at rest.  Calmness, relaxation, an unlikely state of being for Captain Jack, but it was the vulnerable stance that began to put Aveline at ease.  

"Tell me your name, lass."

"Aveline," she replied softly, still hesitant about the pirate captain and his intentions.

"Ahh.  Be ye a Frenchwoman?"

She shook her head.  "English.  My mother was French."

"And why were ye stowin' away aboard the _Mary Alice_?"

Aveline gnawed on her lower lip; 'twasn't any of his business.

Accepting her silence as a response, Jack reached into his coat and retrieved a familiar object, its dull shine barely catching the light of a nearby lantern.  "Ladbroc says he found this on your person.  What's a pretty little strumpet like yourself have use for a nasty dagger like this?"

She quickly averted her eyes; the dagger reminded her of her failure, and of that, she was disgusted.

"Listen, lass," Jack started, his voice taking on a hardened edge.  "I'm willin' to make negotiations with ye should ye be a bit more forthcoming with your information."

Slowly, Aveline shifted her eyes to readdress the captain.  "What kind of negotiations?"

"Well, for instance, bein' that I ain't a fool, I know that people without a destination don't make a habit o' stowin' away on trade vessels.  I may be able to help you reach said destination, under a few conditions, one of which bein' ye answer me questions.  Savvy?"

She nodded her acceptance.  

"Why the dagger, love?"

"Protection," she lied.  

"An' why be a stowaway?  Where ye headed?"

She hesitated.  "Le Havre.  I have some unfinished business there."

"_Le Havre_," Jack repeated, over-accenting the French pronunciation.  "Well, while I must say I've never been to _Le Havre,_ it wouldn't be terribly difficult to locate th' bearings."

Wise to the ways of pirates, Aveline narrowed her eyes in suspicion.  "And what's in it for you, Jack Sparrow?  Where do you profit from our arrangement?"

"Conditions, love, I already told you."

"What kinds of conditions?"

Jack waggled one finger before her pretty face, and waggled another with the addition of each condition.  "One.  Ye continue to be cooperative.  I want no trouble from ye, lass, no splittin' me belly in my sleep, and no more screamin' like the devil's whore.  Two, as far as the crew is concerned, you're aboard the Pearl as my mistress.  You'll sleep in my cabin and more or less live by my side.  This is for your protection, ye understand, as I wouldn't want the crew thinkin' ye be at their lusty disposal."

"But you had a woman onboard, and it seemed to me as though she wasn't in any particular danger."

"Aye, but Anamaria hadn't your dungbie, love."  The meaning of this declaration went unrecognized by Aveline, and Jack merely smiled inwardly at the comment and continued with his demands.  "Three, you are to perform one favor for me, when I require it.  I'll not say what that favor is yet, as I'm not yet sure myself, but when the time comes, you are to submit to my request happily and willingly.  Savvy love?"

Aveline considered the terms of their agreement a moment.  _No,_ her conscience pleaded, desperate that she not hand herself willingly over to a pirate's disposal.  But a different sort of desperation, that borne from her obsession with vengeance, was ripe in her belly and winning the war with her head.   "Would I actually have to perform the deeds a... a mistress would?"

_Perform the deeds?  _Jack beamed his usual smile.  "Only if it be pleasin' to ye, love."

"It isn't," she replied hastily.  

"Then I do solemnly swear, ye needn't lay a hand on me, except for show, in th' presence o' me men."

But Aveline remained unconvinced.  "You solemnly swear?  You are a pirate, Captain Sparrow, and a pirate's oath is of no use to anyone."

Removing his hat, he pressed it earnestly against his heart.  "I swear on th' Pearl, love.  You'll not hear a more solemn oath than that."

This, Aveline recognized as a truth.  She had heard the sordid tales of Captain Sparrow's long-fought, arduous quest to recover the Black Pearl.  Perhaps his words held some weight…  "Well, if I am only to be your mistress in appearance, then... I suppose... I could consent to the terms of this agreement."

Jack considered her words very carefully, and decided that her hesitation to 'perform the deeds' of a mistress should be evidence enough that she had preserved her maidenhead.  Still, to be certain...

"I will admit, I'm saddened that ye wish not to be me actual mistress.  Did that whelp Traven sour you to the ways of men?"

She flinched.  "I'm afraid I've not yet been exposed to the ways of men, as you describe it.  Neither by Captain Traven, nor any other man."

"My apologies, fair maiden.  I wouldn't want to tarnish your good reputation with my vulgar tongue."  

_Ahh, a virgin she be._

"Worry not, Captain Sparrow.  My reputation is of no use to me once my business in Le Havre has been carried out.  You may tarnish it all you wish.  Just, please, refrain from using your tongue."

Jack grinned at her.  "Glad t' see you've regained your senses.  Can I trust you to wander freely about my ship without attemptin' to do it or me any harm?"

"I will give you _my_ solemn oath, if you will give me my dagger."  Jack eyed her incredulously, and she smiled a soft, innocent smile.  "That I may prove my trustworthiness to you."

"I'll tell ye what.  Ye pass a full day without an outburst, an' I will return your dagger.  Fair enough, love?"

"No.  I want it this instant."

Jack shrugged, as though helpless in the matter.  "Unfortunate, that is.  I'll have t' keep ye locked up."  He stood immediately and moved toward the door.

"No, stop!  Please wait!"  The raw desperation in her voice unnerved him somewhat, and he made mental note to hide the dagger at once.  "Fair enough.  Will you now release me, Captain Sparrow?"  Using the grating to support her weight, Aveline lifted herself to a standing position.  

Smiling triumphantly, he unlocked the cell and opened it for her liberation.  "Ye best follow me, love.  I'll show ye to our cabin."

She swallowed hard, for a lump had formed in her throat.  "_Our_ cabin, Captain Sparrow?"

"You're my mistress, Miss Hartwell.  We be sharin' a bed, in the eyes o' the crew."

Aveline narrowed hers.  "How do you know my name?"

_Bloody hell…_ Momentarily caught off guard, Jack combed his cunning for an appropriate response.  "Traven," he answered quickly, hoping the lad had been wise enough to get the lass's name before agreeing to take her aboard, and that she had been unwise enough to provide a fake one.

"Oh.  I see."  Accepting his answer, she nodded a little for him to proceed, and he directed her from the dank room, out into the tiny corridor that would lead them to the captain's quarters.  

Ladbroc had remained in the hallway outside the door, keeping watch, and they encountered him upon their exit.

"Ye let 'er go, Cap'n?"  His face expressed his alarm.

"Aye, that I did.  The lady and I have reached an accord."

Aveline looked up at the sailor, her eyes murderous.  _If she was locked away once more, she'd…_

"But Cap'n Sparrow—"

"Back t' work, ye scurvy dog.  Tell the boys to brail the fore and the main, we sail north tonight.  And announce to all that I have taken Miss Hartwell here as my mistress, and nary a one o' you blighters is to lay a hand on 'er."

Ladbroc nodded in resignation.  "Aye aye, Cap'n."

When the sailor had departed, Jack continued to lead Aveline down the corridor, and when they arrived at his quarters, he opened the door for her to enter.

"Listen, lass.  There's a trunk in th' corner, you'll find a dress or two in there.  Dress quickly, an' I'll return shortly."

Jack started to leave, but Aveline reached out to hastily grasp his arm.  At her touch, Jack turned, looking down on her with a lusty smile.  Terrified, she released him.

"Wh-where are you going?"

"I'll just be takin' a look about up on deck.  Don't do anything stupid while I'm gone."  A quick hand produced her beloved dagger, dangled it before her huge eyes, and just as quickly tucked it away.  "I'll be back."

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AN:  I've provided an English translation of "Il Etait une Fois une Fleur," as taken from 

"There Was Once a Flower"

There was once a flower

It opened a little, then a lot

A butterfly comes and rests on the flower

Mmm, how nice that smells

The butterfly flies away out of sight

The flower closes up, withers, and disappears


	8. Dance

AN:  Endless thanks to Nimue, without whose ever-dedicated guidance and encouragement, these words would not continue to flow.  Well, maybe they would flow.  But not nearly as smoothly…

"An Eye For a Bargain" and "Into the Fire" – have YOU read them yet?

~*~*~

_Come let me play with you, come black satin dancer_

_In all your giving, given in the answer_

_Tearing life from limb and looking sweeter_

_Than the brightest flower in my garden…_

~Jethro Tull, "Black Satin Dancer"

~*~*~

A playful wind clung to the coattails of the fleeing storm and danced across the decks of the Pearl, tickling the whiskers of her crew and nearly stealing the hat of her captain as he made his way to the main mast. Jack used his empty hand to reach up and secure his hat, as the other was wrapped tightly around the hilt of Aveline's ridiculous dagger. His kohl-lined eyes narrowed to inquisitive slits, examining the pitiful excuse for a weapon in his experienced hand. 

At first glance, it appeared rather crude; its blade was rusted along either edge, and its silver hilt was tarnished, scratched, and covered in layers of unidentifiable grime. Not the sort of tool a pirate as arrogant as Jack Sparrow would normally add to his arsenal. However, upon closer inspection through the eye of a treasure hunter, he noticed a delicate, feathery engraving down the flat of the blade, as well as an ornate carving adorning the well-worn hilt. He ran his thumb along the markings, noting a few hollowed spots along the design that indicated it had once been encrusted with jewels. Jack twirled the end of his mustache, wondering how the crafty lass had come into possession of the little dagger, and exactly where she intended to sheathe it.

Biting down on the blade, Jack shed his long coat and set about scaling the mast, climbing toward the crow's nest with an agility demonstrative of how frequently he'd made the same trip. The muscles of his upper body expanded and contracted with the dexterity of well-seasoned sailors, cooperating soundlessly to complete a task and assure a smooth journey. In many ways, Jack's body mirrored the crew of the Pearl, visually harmless, but secretly capable of a great many feats. His own slender stature had served him in drawing on the element of surprise, for the body that had been strengthened by years of exertive endeavors and escapes hid behind the frontage of a seemingly lanky, oft-drunken pirate.

Jack grinned at the very thought of it; what a charlatan he was.  

He supposed he would have to call upon that particular skill in wooing the girl.  Aye, she was a pretty lass, but hardly the basic tavern wench he was accustomed to bedding.  For one, he estimated her to be nearly twenty years his junior, and his myriad of lovers had all been within ten or so years of his own age.  Often, they were quite a bit older, and utilizing the obscurity of cosmetics to lure in the younger captain.  To Jack, it mattered naught; a beddin' was a beddin'.  They were usually hardened women, wise to the ways of the world, and particularly to the ways of a rogue like himself.  Wenches like Scarlett and Giselle were hardly caught unawares by his womanizing habits; on the contrary, they played the game as well as he.  Aveline, on the other hand, as clever as she seemed, was no doubt naïve, and especially soft.  He'd found her to be easily manipulated down in the brig, and assumed she would be as easily manipulated throughout their awkward liaison.  

How exactly he would woo her, he wasn't entirely certain.  Best to get a better feel for the loony lass before trying any of his tricks.  And how he would dispose of her after the ritual was an entirely different dilemma altogether.  He had learned long ago that deflowering a woman wasn't such an effortless task; it required the right amount of cunning and forethought to escape such an encounter unscathed, as the emotional onslaught experienced by a woman at the loss of her maidenhead was enough to drive a man straight to the asylum should he not evade her before she became infatuated.  The very idea caused Jack to hesitate a moment in his climb and shudder, for nothing struck greater fear into the hearts of pirates everywhere than _love._  To be a pirate Prometheus, bound to an island rock and forced to have his liver eaten and digested by a feminine vulture on a daily basis, was a fate infinitely worse than death for a man of the sea. Better to dance the hempen jig, than to dance at one's wedding.

And as much as Jack adored weddings, he'd just as soon turn himself over to Port Royal authorities than to become a married man himself.

Thus, it seemed that seducing the young girl would be a downright difficult task.  Especially considering her fragile condition…

_Good thing I'm a bit daft meself, eh?_

He reached the crow's nest at long last, Duncan making room for him to climb inside and crouch down.  

"Ye ain't t' touch this.  Nor can ye tell anyone where it is," he informed the man, who nodded in dutiful agreement.  "You're a good man, Duncan."

"Aye, Cap'n.  Count on me."

Jack smirked as he hid the dagger beneath the white flag; blasted thing was just taking up space, anyhow.  'Least now he could put it to some use…

"On your guard, mate," he ordered the sailor before climbing out of the crow's nest and beginning his journey back down the mast.

~*~*~

Alone in the captain's quarters, Aveline stood stiff and straight as a sunflower, terrified to move.  Allowing only her eyes to shift back and forth and survey her surroundings, she drew whispery breaths as her pained heart began pounding out a furious tribal rhythm in her chest.  For a moment, she feared she might keel over as decade-old voices rang clear as bells in her head, sounding a death toll that both alarmed and incensed her.  

_You know this place, lass.  Ye been here before…_

Oh, that accursed man!  Would he _ever_ leave her be?  Were he still alive, that she could lay his merciless body to waste beside her father's.  Clasping two hands over her ears as though to expel the voices in her head, she succeeded only in preventing their escape, and the harder she fought to suppress them, the louder they became.  

_I'll have ye yet, lass.  You're mine, for life!_

She opened her mouth to scream, wishing to exercise the dark demon captain from her last shade of sanity, but remembered her promise to Jack Sparrow and with great restraint, snapped shut her jaw.  Her fingers tangled in the hair around her ears, twisting the strands so tightly she might have ripped them out if not for the pain of it.  Bowing her head that a few loose layers of her golden brown mane tumbled before her eyes, she hid behind the curtain of hair to avoid seeing the apparition she felt certain lurked somewhere nearby.  A peripheral glance revealed the presence of a small charting table, complete with a rolled-out map quite similar to the one atop which she'd lain in her darkest hour, and Aveline began wondering if she hadn't in fact been here before.

A few eternal minutes passed, all spent combating her inner demons, and it was the approaching footsteps outside the cabin door which at last steered her away from her mind's battlefield.  She recognized the cadence as that of Captain Sparrow, the lightness of his gait having been the strange fanfare that had heralded her release from the brig only minutes before.  _Compose yourself!_ she heard Roberta scold her gently, and for once, Aveline obeyed her handmaiden.  Wilting, she dropped her arms limply to her sides, relaxed her neck and tilted her head that she resembled a dying floret leaning meekly toward the sunlight, vulnerable and weak.  

An act to Aveline, she knew naught how genuinely she withered. 

"Ye don't take orders well, do ye, girl?"

Aveline startled; she'd known he was close, but not right behind her.  She rotated to find Captain Sparrow seemingly annoyed at returning to find her in exactly the same spot in which he'd left her.  The irritation in his dangerous eyes was enough to chase away what cobwebs of her delusion remained.

"No, I simply… wish not to change my dress."  Her tone was imaginary, that of a pixie.     

"I'm afraid ye haven't a choice in the matter, lass.  You're far too scantily clad t' be keeping the company o' pirates.  Ain't safe, mark my words."

Her mildness faded slightly as a puzzled Aveline glanced down at her ruined muslin dress, failing to see why he considered the dress 'scanty.'  "I understand that my attire is not entirely presentable, but I don't see how that matters in the company of pirates."

"Well, maybe it doesn't.  But your attire is _overly_ presentable, if ye catch me meanin', and allowin' all the Spanish Main to count the laces in your corset is not considered practical behavior in the company of pirates.  If you wish not to be accosted, that is."

What remained of her feeble feint gave up the ghost, incinerated by the irrepressible inferno of her mounting mortification.  

Her cheeks and ears afire with embarrassment, Aveline speedily crossed the cabin to the ornately framed full-length mirror in its corner.  Sure enough, her reflection presented her with what could very well be considered a scantily clad girl.  Soaked through, the thin ivory muslin did very little to conceal the corset, as wet fabric clung to every line and curve of her physique and, despite her slip, revealed even the shadow of the dark triangle at the apex of her thighs, if one gave bother to look.  Aveline had no doubt that Jack Sparrow had ventured a glance, and she immediately wished she had her dagger; her blasted veins could use a draining.  Aghast, she hurried to take cover behind the mirror, peeking naught but her head out from behind its frame.  

"You blackguard!" she exclaimed, now desperate for either a quick death or a change of clothes.  "Bring me a gown, at once!"

"Sorry, lass.  Unfortunately for you, I ain't the best at takin' orders meself.  I'm afraid you'll have to make the trip across the room by your onesies." 

She felt the heat rise through her neck to flood her face, and she charged angrily across the room to retrieve a dry garment, quickly so as to deny the captain's eyes access to her vulnerability.  As she bent to obtain a dress from the trunk, however, Jack enjoyed a long, appraising look at the girl's rump, all but exposed to him by the tautness of wet fabric, the slack of which had been gathered at the dress's front in Aveline's effort to cover herself.  _She may not be a likeable one, but she certainly ain't an ugly little strumpet._  No, seducing Aveline Hartwell would certainly not be the most unpleasant task Captain Jack Sparrow had ever been forced to undertake.  And time was on his side as well; he needed only a week to win her favor, he ventured to guess, and the journey to and from Le Havre would take far longer; he guessed he would have to call upon what little will power he had to restrain himself from taking her too soon.  Nonetheless, he would have time enough to win the girl's trust and earn her affections.  And if not, there was always their bargain to fall back on…

Plunging both hands into the trunk, Aveline removed the two dresses it contained.  Both were made of the finest black silk and trimmed with luxuriant gold lace.  She turned and stared at Jack in disbelief.

"Where did you get these?"

Jack cocked a sideways grin.  "Those were found aboard a merchant vessel bound for England.  Mourning dresses for the king's mistresses, I'm told."

"An impressive steal, for certain."

"Swag," he corrected her.  "It's a piratical term."

She nodded her understanding.  "Impressive swag, then."  Standing, she discarded the larger of the two gowns and, holding the other in front of her transparent dress, returned to the protective shield of the mirror to change.  "You will kindly avert your eyes, Captain Savage."

Jack fired a curious look in her direction.  "Sparrow, love.  Captain Sparrow."

Aveline popped her head back out from behind the mirror's frame, her eyes boding evil.  "That's what I said," she informed him, her voice wound as tightly as a watch spring.  Had she appeared less maniacal, Jack would have been inclined to argue, egocentric as he was.

"Of course.  My mistake."

Narrowing her gaze defensively, Aveline disappeared behind the mirror once more.  

Jack averted his eyes as she had requested, contemplating the eerie nature of the girl and the change of mood he'd just witnessed her undergo.  Strange little thing, she was.  Composed one minute, uncanny the next.  _At least I'm a little barmy all the time…_  He wondered if he could tie her to the bed at night without eliciting too much of a protest…

"This dress is enormous!" she exclaimed, emerging from behind the mirror.  It was rather large on her, but one would be remiss not to note Aveline as a tiny girl.  One elegant, oversized sleeve drooped carelessly off her left shoulder, revealing flesh as white as the Jolly Roger against the ebony silk of the gown.

"Let me give ye a hand with that," Jack offered roughly and with as straight a face as he could muster, gallantly swaggered across the room to step behind her and assist.  He returned the sleeve's edge to its rightful place on her shoulder, then began lacing the top of the gown to secure it, conscientiously brushing his fingertips feather-light over her exposed skin as he did.  He took care not to catch her eye in the mirror, pursing his lips in feigned concentration as he tied an impenetrable sailor's knot to keep the gown in place, and while it was still obviously too large a gown for her petite frame, he felt confident it would not fail to keep her decisively clothed.  When he had finished, he immediately stepped away from her, allowing her a bit of personal space, and watched as she adjusted the garment here and there for comfort.  She turned to him, as though seeking his approval, though he doubted she required it, and he nodded for formality's sake.  

"Thank you," she murmured, taken aback somewhat by his politeness.  This was the desired effect for Jack, who simply smiled his response.  "Captain Sparrow?"

"Yes, love?"

"Where am I to sleep?"

Jack wrestled with the suggestive grin that fought to overcome his noble façade.  "The bed, of course."

Aveline took a distrustful step back, pressing herself against the mirror that had seemingly become her personal fortification against Jack.  As though the glass wouldn't break…

"You gave me your word, Captain…"

"And I ain't goin' back on it either, woman.  I'll be sleepin' over here."  He gestured to the large, velvet-cushioned bench positioned near the window.  Aveline eyed the item of furniture suspiciously.  

"Shouldn't I sleep on the chaise?  Being that I am both smaller, and the guest?"

Jack shook his head, raising a pointed finger to accentuate the declaration to come.  "On the contrary, lass.  You are a woman, as well as me mistress, and therefore, ye take the bed.  I will most courteously surrender its superior comfort to you in the interest of making your passage aboard the Pearl all the more agreeable.  Savvy?"  

But Aveline, as usual, remained quite unconvinced.  "If you are looking to earn my approval, Captain Sparrow, you'll certainly not do so with any series of favors."

His semblance of a smile vanished, an arrant frown assuming its place.  Flailing his arms in submission, he proudly declared, "Well, forgive me for bein' a gentleman.  The role never did suit me.  Perhaps I'll simply return to me role as dishonest, unlawful, dyed-in-the-wool pirate Captain Jack Sparrow, and we'll be on with the rape and pillage.  More agreeable to ye, love?"

Her demons wailed, threatening to reveal themselves to the pirate captain as she clamped her thighs together beneath her skirts in soundless resistance.  "Please," she pleaded softly, abandoning her prudent suspicions in favor of the terror that inhabited her heart.  "Do not say things to frighten me any further.  I will cooperate.  I will.  I'll sleep in the bed."

This threw Jack completely off for about the umpteenth time since he'd made the girl's acquaintance some two hours ago.  Defiance, compliance… daft!  He suspected he would never be able to read the girl as he did the rest of the world, and that he would have to grow accustomed to simply handling her as she… _went._  

_Aye, man.  But where is she goin'?_

"There ain't reason to be afraid o' me, if ye don't give me reason to give you reason to be afraid.  Savvy?"

She didn't "savvy"; in fact, she hadn't a clue what the man had said.  "Come again?"

"I said, ain't no reason to be afraid 'o me, if ye don't give me reason to give you reason to be afraid.  I won't hurt ye, love, not unless ye make me."

Make him?  _Make him?_  If there was one thing Aveline had long-ago decided and henceforth lived by, it was that she could not be held responsible for her own misfortunes.  Hence, her bastard father had to pay…

"I ask you please, Captain Sparrow, to understand and respect the fact that, however common to you, our arrangement is aberrant to me.  I am not comfortable with this environment, nor with the company, nor with the role I am made to play, and your idle threats do little to ease my discomfort.  I do not know how I am to be expected to fulfill my half of our bargain if you continue provoking me to the edge of sanity."

Jack pursed his lips, unsure how to respond to this new accusation.  Thoughtful fingers stroked his beard, restless toes tapped against the floorboards.  And then, he spoke:  "You have any idea what's about to come out your mouth from one moment to the next?"

Aveline balked.  "I beg your pardon?"

"Have you any idea what you'll be sayin' t' me a minute from now?  I mean, one minute ye be protestin' a change o' clothes, the next swearin' at me an' demandin' I clothe ye.  You ask me not to do you favors, then ask that I do ye the goodwill o' mindin' me mouth.  You have any idea what you'll be sayin' next, woman?"

She furrowed her brow.  "I suppose not."

"Then hardly seems fair to expect as much from a pirate.  You an' I'll just have to adjust to one another's bein' one another, if we're to make it through this debacle.  I'll especially not have anyone marchin' about me decks givin' orders, and I sense that's where your boldness will take ye next.  And that's me final word on it."

Stunned by his dominance, Aveline figured she could do naught else but nod in agreement.  She felt a sense of loathing beginning to build toward the man, anger at his insistence on so controlling her.  The absolute nerve of the man!  Even the world's criminals were out to suppress her.  However, under the command of this criminal, and without her dagger, Aveline's options in dealing with the problem were as scant as the ivory muslin of her drenched, discarded dress.  

"As you wish, Captain Sparrow."

~*~*~


	9. Changes

Well, of course I'm sorry this has taken so damn long.  Moved back to college, got into the swing of things, got back to writing, and wham-bang, my computer bombs out on me.  **Fabulous.**  She's up an' runnin' again, so I'm tackling this story and hoping to crank out my additions at a more reasonable pace – every two weeks or so, hopefully.  That said, hope you're still reading, and hope you enjoy.  Oh, and email me if you're interested in joining any fanfic groups.

Thanks to Nimue for excellent critique and for finding an appropriate solution to archiving dilemmas, and to Marion, for disliking Aveline and the interactions between Norrington and Fulbright, offending me in such a subtle fashion that I find myself forced to improve.  The lieutenant-commander and our favorite commodore will be making an appearance in my next chapter, and character development is the name of the game.  Your turn to clean the bathroom next week, wench.

And Katie?  This dungbie's for you.  wink

Quinn
    
    _Passions will part to a strange melody_
    
    _As fires will sometimes burn cold_
    
    _Like petals in the wind, we're puppets to the silver_
    
    _Strings of souls, of changes…_

Gordon Lightfoot, "Changes"

Captain Jack Sparrow was on edge.

After thoroughly reprimanding his newly acquired mistress the previous evening, he had watched her lapse into a period of timid obedience, her eyes perpetually downcast, her tone perpetually meek.  'Yes, Captain.  As you wish, sir,' were her only words, except when she had firmly refused his offer of supper on the basis that she didn't 'want to be a burden,' before she climbed into bed for the night.

Having taken his dinner alone, Jack had headed up to the quarter deck to appeal to the retreating sun for help, but alas, his guiding light had been as evasive as Aveline, ducking below the edge of the earth as she had beneath the edge of his blanket, leaving the clueless captain with naught but a cask of rum to consult for advice.  The amber brew had never failed him, and so, he sought his answer in the barrel.  After hours of deliberation, they had arrived at a conclusion that seemed irrefutable:

She was up to _something_**.**

_*Argh.*_

He'd returned to his cabin then, having conspired with his good friend, rum, to rouse the girl from bed and, albeit drunkenly, demand an explanation.  Stumbling over to the foot of the bed, he had reached forth to snatch the coverlet from atop her huddled form… and was stopped at once by a rather disturbing sound.

She was crying.

Rolling his eyes, Jack had groggily asked what her misery be, only to receive nary a response as she continued to sob, her face buried deep in the pillow beneath it.  Growing angry with the nonsense, he'd reached down and given her foot a bit of a shake, then waited.  

The crying stopped.

Jack had watched, stunned, as she rolled over onto her side and readjusted the pillow beneath her, emitting a soft sigh as she snuggled into a comfortable position, a sweet smile barely turning the corners of her mouth.

She hadn't awoken; she hadn't been _awake._  

And thus, Jack's inebriated mind came to realize: Aveline had been crying in her sleep.

Never, in all his years, had he witnessed something so subtly disquieting.  He'd seen men lose arms, legs, eyes, ears, and other unmentionable appendages, but that was a violence even he could understand, being a pirate.  The violence that could bring a grown woman to weep in her slumber, however, was one Jack thought he'd never be able to comprehend.  

And now, he stood rooted at the helm, guiding his beloved ship en route to San Salvador, his eyes darting methodically to the woman in the black dress every few minutes.  She lingered at the starboard side, peering over the edge as the Pearl shattered the crystal face of the Caribbean.  Should he outright ask her?  Nay, she'd be embarrassed, and she'd shun him all the more. 

"Land ho!" came the cry from the crow's nest, and lifting his spyglass to one kohl-lined eye, Jack saw that, indeed, the first golden crest of San Salvador's sandy shore had manifested on the horizon.  

"Captain Sparrow!"  

The unmistakably female voice jarred him a bit, and he shifted the spyglass to watch as an enormous, distorted, and obviously miffed Aveline approached the helm.  Taken aback by the outlandish image, he lowered the glass, and found Aveline to her usual small, correctly proportioned self, but no less agitated.  

"Aye, love?"

"What land is this we're approaching?"

"San Salvador.  We're stopping in order to acquire the bearings to Le Havre, as well as a navigator for a… special trip I'll be making upon our return to the Spanish Main."

She furrowed her perfectly shaped brows.  "And why did you neglect to inform me of this fact?"

"Well, for one…" He opened his arms to convey his self-importance.  "I am the captain of this vessel, and I needn't report to anyone, least of all you.  However, I might have been inclined to inform you of the stop at San Salvador had you taken dinner with me instead of retiring early.  So, as you will obviously agree with me, your ignorance here is hardly my fault."

Aveline paused; no, she couldn't help but agree.  Besides, best not to ruffle the feathers of the man who'd hidden her precious dagger.  "Very well, Captain.  Am I to remain aboard?"

"On the contrary.  You will be accompanying me, mistress, as we will be staying the night on the island and I'd rather not let you out of my sight."  

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Two hours later, Jack and crew had finally docked and were preparing to go ashore, Aveline clinging tightly to Jack's arm.  

"I must admit, I'm a bit frightened," she told him, staring down the long black skirt of her gown.

"I told you, love, you've naught to worry, so long as you stay by my side and don't do anything stupid.  San Salvador isn't an especially dangerous place.  Few ruffians here an' about, but—"

"Ruffians?" she asked incredulously.  "I believe that you, yourself, Captain Sparrow, would constitute a ruffian."  

"Well, then, ye haven't anythin' to worry about, do ye?"

Aveline arched a pointed eyebrow.  "I would feel much safer were I armed, Captain…"

Jack flashed her a knowing, gold-glinted smile.  "You are armed, lass.  Armed with the most fearsome pirate in all the Spanish Main."  With that, he escorted her down the plank and onto the sandy shore of San Salvador, en route to the village up ahead.  Kursar and Quartetto followed along, the rest of Jack's men having stayed onboard under Gibbs' command to secure the ship's security in the tiny, ramshackle port.

The village was tan, her dirt roads tan, her few horses tan, and her inhabitants tan.  Everything seemed to blend together in Aveline's eyes, and she imagined that the four of them no doubt appeared a colorful bunch as they navigated through the narrow, winding streets of the town.

The hour was somewhat late; the sun had begun its descent and the people of the San Salvador village were in their homes, with their families, enjoying their meager meals in the company of their loved ones.  T'was an easy task for the pirate band to walk the streets of the quiet village, serenaded by the clamor of socializing Spanish-speaking families, and nudging chickens and small livestock aside with their heavy boots in order to make way.  Aveline stood very close to Jack, although she was beginning to question her cause to do so; the streets were vacant and the ambiance, peaceful, instilling in her no sense of danger whatsoever.  

Jack watched Aveline's expression change gradually, noting the look of ease that had settled on her pretty face.  No, that wouldn't do… Reaching into his coat, he speedily produced his flintlock pistol, aiming at the glassless window of an empty adobe cottage and firing, sending the bullet to embed itself in the clay ceiling of the home.

"What was that?" Aveline gasped.

He glared down at her with a notion of learned supremacy.  "Thieves," he growled, aiming to keep her close.

Her shadowed eyes grew large.  "Thieves?  What could they possibly want with us?  You are yourself a brigand, and we've brought neither silver nor gold ashore."

Jack smiled a little, reminded of his friend, Will Turner.  "Not all thieves seek silver and gold, love.  Some want nothing more than to slap the dungbie of a lovely lass such as yourself."  He smirked at her, his wily hand sneaking down to softly pat her rear, causing Aveline to jump a little.   

"Blackguard," she sneered, causing Jack to snicker.  "How are we to acquire anything here, Captain Sparrow?  I find it hard to believe that a town so poor could possibly produce the bearings to a French seaport."

"Listen, woman.  I'm Captain Jack Sparrow.  I know what I'm doing.  Now, keep quiet, or kiss your French seaport goodbye."  He returned his attention to the streets, as they were approaching a squalid part of town, and with it, the little cantina that Jack sought.  "You'd be surprised what San Salvador has to offer."

The din of chatter and music increased as they neared the downtrodden area, the shouting and laughter juxtaposed with the filthy, depressed air of the place.  Jack steered them toward a little hut, which, based on the unconscious drunks lining its doorway, was no doubt a bar of some sort, and handed Aveline over to his men for safekeeping.  

"Don't let her out of your sights," he instructed them, and Kursar and Quartetto nodded in compliance.  

"WAIT!" Aveline cried, rushing forward to Jack before he crossed the cantina's threshold.  "You mean you insisted on my coming ashore simply to abandon me outside a tavern?  Unbelievable!"

Jack raised his hands, as if to keep her at bay, and he maintained the tranquil tone of a man dealing with a child.  "I need to go in alone, love.  Ye—"

"DON'T call me love," she snarled back.  "You haven't the right…"

"I've been calling you 'love' all along, _love,_ an' ye didn't seem to have no problem with it before!"

Aveline sneered.  "Well, maybe I'll not play the compliant waif any longer."

Kursar and Quartetto exchanged a nervous look, none-too-willing to take charge of the girl now that she'd worked herself into a mild frenzy.

"You're hardly a waif, _love.  _And I'll remind you again, I'm captain of the ship that's granting you passage to Le Havre, and if you would like to keep our arrangement intact, you'll submit to my every request as agreed."

"I made no such agreement!" she bellowed back.  "I agreed to grant you ONE favor, Captain Sparrow, _one._  And unless you are calling that favor into effect now, I refuse to submit to any such request."

Jack hesitated, thinking this over a bit.  T'was true, he'd intended to call said favor into effect should his attempted seduction not go as smoothly as planned… But he was _Captain Jack Sparrow,_ for Christ's sake!  What could _possibly_ go wrong?

Of course, he would have to start working on her as soon as they returned to the Pearl if he desired not to wrestle her down kicking and screaming come his judgment day…

"All right lass, I'm calling the favor into effect now.  Your favor to me, is to wait patiently here, outside this tavern, mouth shut, under the supervision o' me men until I return and instruct you to do otherwise.  Savvy?"

Aveline cocked him a sideways smirk, her fiery demeanor vanquished into deference.  "Savvy."

Jack narrowed his eyes at her, examining her down the straight line of his nose, and reading her eyes quite accurately for the first time since making the lady's acquaintance, he suddenly knew exactly what had just transpired…

He'd been conned.

Secretly miffed, he left her side, strolling into the cantina with an assertive air, hardly the disposition of a man who'd been duped by a daft damsel.  But this, this, was part of Jack's plan as well…

He'd let her have her way, that he may have his.

~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~

Aberrant black eyes watched him from the second floor landing as he entered, and skilled brown hands wrapped their fingers around the railing.  _Ahh, Capitán.  You've come back to me…_

In his younger days, Jack Sparrow had made the acquaintance of an island woman, whose voluptuous beauty and uncanny knowledge of Caribbean lore had made her invaluable to the up and coming pirate.  With captaincy, however, had come the need to abandon her iron bed in search of golden chambers, but she had always welcomed him back to San Salvador with open, loving arms…

After all… Carmen Ladrón had accumulated the bulk of her meager fortune picking the pockets of Jack Sparrow.  

Each time he would return, without fail, Carmen would lock him between her brown legs, bury his face in her raven hair, and work deft fingers in and out of the many folds and creases of the Captain's dark blue longcoat, which she would hang from the bedpost for easy access.  

'Twas a timeless routine, one of which neither ever seemed to tire.

Her grin mischievous, she made her way toward and down the winding staircase, saintly in her white cotton dress, and approached Jack just as he'd ordered a tankard of rum and inquired as to her whereabouts.

_"Estoy aquí, Capitán,"_ she cooed.  She spoke perfect English; he loved her island flavor.

"Ahh, there she is."  Jack slipped his arms around the pretty señorita, enveloping her in a warm embrace.  She slipped her fingers into his pockets.

Empty._  ¡Maldito sea!_

The man certainly knew how to hide a shilling.  

"_Como estás, Capitán?"_  Carmen smiled at him in earnest, her teeth gleaming white against her sepia skin.  

"Bien," he replied, making no attempt at forging any semblance of an accent.  'Twas just as well.  "I have work for you."

"Work?"  She arched a fine black brow.  "I like work."

~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~

Outside the cantina, Aveline waited restlessly, sandwiched between unpleasant company with naught to do but make conversation, a task she wasn't exactly feeling up to.

Luckily for her, Kursar and Quartetto had already kindled a heated argument, and were happily stoking the flames.  

"I told ye once, Quart, I tell ye again, me and some o' th' boys is none-too-pleased with th' way Cap'n treated Anamaria.  She be a crewmember, same as us, an' Cap'n gets rid o' 'er like stale bread!  Who's t' say he won't do th'

same t' us?"

Aveline's ears pricked in interest; who was Anamaria?

"That be mutinous talk, mate," Quartetto warned him.  "Ye know how th' cap'n disposes o' mutineers" 

She noticed the shudder that shook the fabric of his tunic, and wondered exactly how Jack did dispose of mutineers.  Had them tickled to death, most likely…

"'sides, Anamaria got what she wanted.  Cap'n came through."

"Oh, sure, Cap'n came through.  What I worry is that he'll 'come through' for us next!  I ain't mutinying.  I'm just makin' a point, s'all.  Cap'n Sparrow maybe ain't the great cap'n he's made himself out to be."

Aveline emitted a bored sigh, the troublemaker in her thinking to provoke the men into a more interesting argument. "Well, certainly not.  He hordes his plunder."

The grizzled pirates exchanged a dumbfounded glance.  "What be yer meanin'?" Kursar pressed.

"Well, a captain's crew is entitled to equal shares of any plunder, correct?"

They nodded.  "Aye."

"And any and all goods removed from a raided ship are considered plunder, correct?"

Again:  "Aye."

"Well, has your gallant captain yet offered you a share in my capture?"

Kursar and Quartetto exchanged another puzzled glance.  "He ain't at that, Miss," Quartetto replied.  "But why ought he to?"

Aveline placed defiant hands on her hips, as though to be considered a trophy was an honor of some sort.  "Well, being that I was confiscated from the _Mary Alice,_ t'would be remiss to acknowledge me as anything other than just another piece of… swag," she continued, attempting to shroud the hesitancy in her voice at using the pirate slang Jack had taught her.   She worried not about the pirates in fact attempting to obtain a piece of her, as it were.  She knew

Jack would never allow such a thing to occur.  

He had promised.

"Not that I wish to incite you to mutiny, gentlemen, but I daresay that being captured against my will and held without freedom aboard the Pearl makes me as good a bit of bounty as any weaponry or food you may have found aboard that ship.  And yet, your honorable captain intends to keep me for himself.  What say you to that?"

~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~

Carmen locked the door to the room, securing a private business rendezvous for her and Jack.  Strolling over to the big iron bed, she perched herself at its edge, crossing her dark legs evocatively beneath the folds of her white cotton skirt.  

"So, _Capitán.  You have work for me?"_

Jack approached her leisurely form, stationing himself a few feet away as he explained his proposal.  "I need you to obtain the bearings to Le Havre for me.  It's too much of a risk for me to stop at any British seaport."

"_Capitán, you've never been one to shy away from a challenge."_

"No, but I'm traveling with a rather valuable package at present, and given the present circumstances surrounding the package, which I value, acting in the interest of protecting said valuable package is my main priority.  Presently."  

This sparked the temptress' interest; what riches could the wily captain be hoarding aboard his magnificent ship?

"And you need to deliver this package to Le Havre, is it?"

"No, I need to make a stop in Le Havre.  Then the package and I are bound for a second destination."

"I see.  So, all you need from me are the bearings to Le Havre?"

Jack grinned.  "Of course not.  I'll be needing the bearings to the second destination as well."

"Where you'll be taking the package?"

"Precisely."

Carmen stood, stepping lightly toward Jack, and running practiced fingertips along the lapels of his coat when she reached him.  "Where is this second destination, _Capitán_?"  She slipped the coat off his shoulders; he helped her with the sleeves.

"A Canib island."

The Hispanic woman chuckled as she hung Jack's treasured garment on the bedpost, followed by his precious hat. Plucking at the laces of his tunic, she asked throatily, "Which one?"  Her thieving hands crept up under the white fabric, stealing their way along his taut abdomen.

Jack arched his posture, leaning back and watching her as she worked.  Carmen's was like a second skin to him, and she was the only woman in the Spanish Main who'd willingly endured his long absences.  She knew exactly how to touch him, and he knew her body by heart, and although the thrill of their trysts was long gone, the temptation never failed him when she laid her cool hands against his warm flesh.  

His mind wandered momentarily to the fiery lass who so patiently awaited hi return, just outside…

Carmen wasn't a patient woman; one little tumble couldn't hurt.  And Lord knew, the lass would keep him tightly wound for weeks to come… 

He'd been stripped of his tunic and was enjoying the feel of Carmen's wet lips against his bare chest when the commotion reached his ears.  A gunshot, and then:  "Unhand me, you pirate fiend!"

Pushing the dark woman aside, Jack dashed to the window and peered outside.  "Bloody hell…"

"Come down here and fight me for 'er, Jack Sparrow!" Kursar bellowed.  His weathered grey eyes were wide with rage, his pistol was pressed against Aveline's temple, and the villagers had already begun pouring out into the street.

"What in the hell are ye doin', lad?" Jack called down to the man.

"Teachin' you not to withhold spoils!"

"I see," Jack grumbled, scanning the scene for clues as to what had driven Kursar to such drastic action.  He spotted Quartetto, sprawled out in the dirt, the blood on his brow betraying a nasty blow to the head.  Returning his attention to the problem at hand, Jack's dark eyes locked with Aveline's bright ones, and the anger that gleamed there told him he ought to get down there, right quick—

_There'll be no living with her after this…___

__

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Aveline gnawed relentlessly on her lower lip, the strain of Kursar's hold on her left arm slicing through her like white lightning.  She was going to kill that filthy pirate for leaving her alone with this, this lunatic… 

That filthy pirate appeared in the doorway of the cantina then, armed with his pistol and cutlass and…

…lacking a shirt.

Aveline's eyes went wide at the sight of the man's bare, bronze chest; what on _Earth had the scoundrel been doing?  She made a mental note to inquire about his state of undress later, once Kursar's pistol no longer nuzzled her flesh.  _

Jack spread his feet in a weighted stance, holding a deadly weapon at either side.  Aveline had never seen his eyes so dark and dangerous, and she felt an interesting little chill flitter down her spine at the thought of seeing Quartetto's allusive comments regarding Jack's treatment of traitors manifested before her.  

Her gaze was nailed to Jack's form, and she watched in awe as the man stalked dangerously closer to her and Kursar. The cutlass gleamed red in the light of the evening sun, but Aveline suspected that Jack saw red regardless of its fiery reflection.  She stared openly, shocked by the sight of tight muscle twitching beneath taut flesh; she'd have never thought the wiry captain so well-defined.  Granted, it was a hidden defense, and she supposed it served him better that way; only when the man moved could she catch a glimpse of his veiled physical strength.  

Suddenly, the thought frightened her.  She had grossly underestimated this man based on his benign treatment of her, and now she was witnessing firsthand the malice of which he was capable.  No doubt he was about to commit a crime far worse than confiscating her dagger… And he was, after all, a pirate.  

She drew a shaky breath, then caught Jack's eye.

He winked.

Jack wouldn't allow her to come to any harm…

Swallowing the lump in her throat, she sent up a prayer of thanks to no one in particular that this man was on her side.__

On the ground, Quartetto had come to, and watched his captain with great sadness in his eyes.  Though Jack Sparrow was infinitely clever, he had learned the value of dealing with mutineers using a quick, carefully aimed bullet, after his confrontation with Barbossa.  He wouldn't likely allow such an atrocity to be committed against him again…

"You're making an awfully stupid mistake, lad," Jack warned, although the seasoned sailor was several years his senior.  

Kursar merely pushed out his lower lip in defiance and cocked the flintlock's hammer.

Jack seethed.  Instinct urged him to raise, aim, fire, and send the mutineer straight to the deepest circle of hell… but that chance of missing and instead blowing away his shot at immortality kept the flintlock at his side.

He'd be _damned_ before he let something happen to her, his key… He had to remove her from the path of his bullet.

"Don't go scaring the lass, mate.  She's liable to black out on you."

Taking this as her cue, Aveline went limp in her captor's hold, slumping forward despite the intense pain it afforded her hyper-extended arm.  Staggered, Kursar dropped her to the dirt road, where she landed with an ugly 'thud' and fought to suppress a painful groan and a dusty cough.   As the sea dog stumbled backward a bit, Jack fired, knocking the pistol from his clutch with a bullet that tore muscle and shattered bone.  With an unbearable scream, Kursar clutched his wounded forearm and dropped to his knees, begging the captain for mercy as he stalked closer.  

Aveline watched in horror as Jack pressed the barrel of his flintlock against the underside of Kursar's jaw, cocked the hammer, and pulled the trigger.  

Silence, stillness, an eerily quiet calm descended, the peasants remained rooted, and Quartetto dared not breath. Aveline pushed herself up on wavering arms, only to be hauled to her feet by Jack.  She shook with fear as he turned her to face him, grabbed her chin in one strong hand and examining her face, and frowned at the little flecks of blood as though they might ever-stain her pure white flesh.  

"Come," he rumbled, taking her hand and leading her back toward the Pearl.  "Let's get you cleaned up."


	10. Full Moon

AN:  I don't know what the hell is wrong with ff.net, eating my chapter.  I'm trying this again… sorry for the inconvenience.

This is a short chapter, incidentally, and while I thought about stretching it out a bit, I decided against that.  This is what felt right.  The next chapter's already in the works, though, so stay tuned for updates.

And speaking of updates, I'm more than likely going to be taking my work off of the net archives relatively soon, since both archives are proving extremely unreliable and fruitless.  Dearest Nimue (who provided me with excellent critique on this chapter, I might add – cheers for her!) has started up a listing for archiving and update notices, so I will be joining the ranks there.  If you would like to be added to this list, you can either email me at _Quinntette@yahoo.com_, or Nimue at _Nymuea@yahoo,com_, and we'd be happy to add you.  It is very likely that said archive will soon be the only place this fic is available, so if you'd like to continue reading, it would be wise to join.

Prolix:  Thanks for the interesting feedback!  YOU rock!  Thanks *muchly* for separating me from the milk-toast realm, 'tis my ultimate wish.  And yes, the point of the story is to give pirate Jack his due, and to explore and discover, once and for all, whether preservation of good or preservation of self is Jack Sparrow's main priority.  But wait, I've said too much already…  ~Q

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

It's all right if I was older,  
It's okay to lose your age,  
And I want to follow you,  
I do, I do.

Pete Yorn, "June"

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Fulbright paced anxiously across the forecastle deck of _The Dauntless_, his hands a knot of white kid gloves tied behind his back.  How the pretty captive girl had managed to carve out a little place in his heart after only a moment's introduction, he couldn't say.  The notion frightened him, excited him, paralyzed and emboldened him, the whirlwind of emotions spiraling intensely within him, threatening to sweep him up and away and forever out of his senses…

He steadied his breath when he sensed the commodore standing behind him.  "Commodore."

Norrington offered no acknowledgement, looking down his patrician nose at the slightly shorter officer.  "Thinking about the girl?"

Fulbright exhaled heavily, grateful for a confidant.  "I… I am, Commodore.  She's intrigued me greatly and I'm… well, I'm concerned for her well-being."

The commodore nodded stiffly.  "I must admit, I'm surprised that you would maintain such a strong interest in a lady whose reputation has been compromised."

Frowning, the lieutenant-commander shifted his gaze.  "I hadn't given it much thought."

"Jack Sparrow successfully wooed all of Port Royal last year," Norrington began as he drew nearer to Fulbright, intent on securing his full attention.  "He's accredited as a good man.  But he is, nonetheless, a pirate, as his most recent stunt indubitably demonstrates.  And I would not put the atrocities of which other pirates have proven themselves capable, past Jack Sparrow."

"But I… I thought you said this was a game, Commodore.  Just a game of cat and mouse, perpetrated by Captain Sparrow.  I thought you said Miss Hartwell would be subject to no danger as long as Jack hadn't procured your attention?"

Commodore Norrington sighed; the younger man's optimism was as admirable as it was pitiful, and Norrington inwardly shuddered to realize he was conversing with a shade of his former self.  Thinking positively, eyes on the horizon, love a tangible idea…

A year ago, James Norrington had life by the horns.  

Life had somehow managed to toss and gut him.  

"All I am saying, Lieutenant-Commander, is that you have a promising future ahead of you.  Do not allow your chances for success to be quashed by any hopes you may have of marrying for love."

With that, he turned a poised pivot and marched off, leaving Fulbright to his ruminations. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

A phoenix risen, Jack stalked angrily through the cabin corridors of the Pearl, en route to his own quarters.  Having witnessed his artless act of vengeance, Quartetto had served as a compliant informant, almost incomprehensibly blubbering and blabbering his way through the tale.   

The little weed wanted to be viewed as a possession?  That could be arranged… 

She had managed to prick him, drawing a great deal of blood, and he didn't mean to fall prey to her cleverly concealed thorns again.  He paused at the cabin door, sharpening the edge of his ire before slicing into the room, intent on severing the little weed's self-satisfaction at the root…

He found her wilted, seated on the floor in front of the mirror, the back of her shrunken form reflected by the glass, with the crown of her bowed head facing him, motionless, as though she hadn't heard him enter.  _Impossible.  _She'd loosed her hair completely, the fawn tendrils veiling her face, which she held cradled in the calyx of her palms.  Steeling himself against her trickery, Jack crossed the room, noticing that she trembled at the sound of his approaching footsteps and, using the flat of the cutlass he'd not released since he'd unsheathed it, lifted her chin that he could see her eyes.

Her eyes.  Bloodshot and puffy, brimming with fearful tears.  

_God's teeth…_

"Please," she pleaded, her tone stronger than he would have expected.  "Don't kill me."

Swallowing his hesitation, Jack channeled his rage once more, sliding the blade's edge along the underside of her jaw, gently as not to cut her, but with a firm hand.  "Why shouldn't I?" he asked gruffly.  "You're a traitor, and you broke your word."

"I didn't!" she gasped.  "It was an accident, I didn't-"

"Our agreement was that you weren't to open your _mouth,_" he interjected, the volume of his voice climbing in fury.  "You've broken said agreement, and now I'm left with no choice but to take some sort of corrective action, and seeing as I didn't see fit to spare the life of a man I once called 'friend,' why the devil should I spare yours?"

Aveline lurched forward, mindless of the blade as it nipped her throat, and clutched Jack's britches in desperation.  She stared up at him, a few loose strands of hair still obscuring her tearful gaze.   "Please, Captain Sparrow, I am begging you.  _Begging_ you.  A man needs to die for his crimes before I can die for mine.  If you will just let me take care of this, this one little task, I swear, once I have cut him loose the mortal coil, you may most certainly send me to follow."

Jack lowered his cutlass at last, regarding her with narrow suspicion.  "So this is why you carry a dagger."

She nodded furiously, not wanting to incur his wrath by lying.  "Yes."

Considering this, Jack heaved a sigh before a second burst of vehement energy had him hoisting her up to her feet. As intriguing as this new information was, he wasn't quite finished with her yet.  Besides, he couldn't conceive of such a frail thing actually killing a man, no matter how fanatical she tended to be.  "All right, lass.  I'll spare you today.  On my terms.  Move."  He raised the cutlass again, pressing its tip against her lower back, and she jumped at the pinching sensation.  

He forced her out of his cabin and onto the main deck, where he whistled for his crew to assemble.  He held her close until a circle had been formed around them, then released her in order to address his men.  Night had fallen quickly after Kursar had lost his life, and a full moon lit the scene, giving Jack's eyes a knife-glint shimmer.  Trapped and terrified, Aveline fought to keep her legs from quaking beneath the black satin skirts of the oversized mourning dress.

"It has come to my attention, thanks to our dearly departed friend Mr. Kursar, that some of you are displeased with the manner in which I've conducted business as of late.  Those in agreement, 'aye.'"

It seemed as though no one was in disagreement with his captain; at least, no one was willing to voice it.

"I see I've assembled a lot of scurvy bilge rats to man my sails.  Can't even speak your own minds."

A throat cleared; Ladbroc stepped forward.  "In honesty, Cap'n, some o' th' boys was put off by you leavin' Anamaria like that.  Me… well, I just worry what kind o' danger ye be puttin' us in, keepin' that nasty little bachelor's wife o' yours aboard."

Jack nodded his understanding, gesturing to Aveline as he offered his explanation.  "Miss Hartwell and I have reached an accord, gentlemen, one I cannot break at this time, and one that I don't particularly wish to break.  She stays."  He turned to her, his eyes piercing, and stared at her intently as he continued speaking to his crew.  "However, she is, as you said, the wife to _my_ bachelor, and any further mischief on her part will not be tolerated."

She lowered her eyes in acknowledgement, and he smiled complacently.  Aye, he had the little strumpet under 'is thumb now.  Keeping sharp eyes trained on her, he circled her slowly, steadily, a wolf on the prowl…

"Since I have opted to keep the lass for myself, I will compensate by paying each of you one hundred pieces of eight.  You'd get the same if ye lost an eye in battle for me, and so I'd like, accordingly, for you lads to lose your eye for Miss Hartwell.  Laying so much as a finger on her will constitute an act of mutiny, and we all know how I dispose of mutineers."

A moment of eerie silence passed as the crew reflected upon his haunting words, and the loss of Kursar.

"Well," Jack's cheerful voice shattered the dark moment.  "If that's all settled, I'll be returning to my duties as captain."  Seizing Aveline about the waist, he bent her backward in a most elaborate manner, crushing his mouth to hers in a fierce, dry kiss that would leave her lips bruised and marked as his physical property in the eyes of the crew.  He was deliberately rough, offering no softness, no sweetness, only pressure, pain, possession.  When he retreated and returned her to an upright stance, swaggering away from her to assess his performance, he grinned haughtily at the bloody shame coloring her pale cheeks.  The animal in him roared, the thinker tipped his hat, and Jack turned his back to her, satisfied that he wouldn't have to endure further disobedience.  

"Get back to the cabin, girl," Jack ordered her, and she parted her slightly swollen lips to mutter a soft, "Yes, sir," before excusing herself from the pirates' presence and carrying out his command to a chorus of catcalls and snickers.

Smugly folding his arms across his chest, Jack enjoyed a moment of personal exaltation before becoming keen to Gibbs' critical gaze piercing him from the helm.  He chose to ignore it, for he was far too pleased with himself to be willingly subjected to his first mate's frowning disapproval, and so he moved instead to the main mast and began climbing up, up to the highest point on the ship.  He felt like howling at the moon…

When he reached the crow's nest, he breathed in the salty, smoky scent of the evening and marveled at the magnificent glowing orb that bathed an otherwise dark night in soft, ethereal light.  It rather resembled a pearl, he mused, the way it caught his eye against the inky half shell of the night sky.  Utterly intoxicated by its beauty, he dazedly lowered himself to sit, shifting to get comfortable before something decidedly _un_comfortable bit into his rump.

Rubbing his offended backside with one hand and pushing the white flag aside with the other, Jack grunted as what remained of his ecstasy was swallowed whole by that clever, patient oyster.  He cast the moon a sour look.  _Luring me with your gleam… Blighter._  Returning his gaze downward, Jack scowled as the dagger reflected a taunting, lunar wink.

The dagger.  Aveline's stupid, pitiful little dagger.

Her words attacked him then, as he'd known they would.  _A man must die for his crimes before I can die for mine…_

He fought the urge to simply cast the pathetic knife into the sea's crystal abyss…

The next haunts were the small sounds she'd made as she'd wept in slumber the previous eve.  Aye, that seemed an appropriate weapon of guilt for his conscience to wield.  While there were very few things in life on which Captain Jack Sparrow was not an expert, crying girls was unfortunately one of them.  

He heaved a taxing sigh as he found his footing and stood, throwing one leg and then the other over the edge of the crow's nest before beginning his descent with the miserable excuse for a weapon clenched tightly between gold and ivory teeth.  He stalked across the deck, gesturing to Gibbs that he'd received all the necessary chastising and he needn't administer his own.  His first mate nodded and smiled, his jubilant blue eyes twinkling in the moonlight.  _Ahh, so you're conspirators this eve.  I might have guessed._

Grasping the dagger in one hand and the doorknob in the other, Jack entered the cabin, taking care to do so as though he owned it.  

As though you own it.  You do own it, fool.

Shut up, you… 

She was standing at the window, peering out at the Godforsaken moon, and she whirled around to face him when she heard the door slam.  He approached confidently, holding the blade loosely yet fixedly, aimed at her.  She held his gaze for a few moments, but it eventually dropped.   And when she caught a glimpse of the fierce silver, she lowered herself into a chair, instantly at his mercy.

Jack paced the floor in front of her a bit, waggling the dagger in his hand.  Each time he'd turn to reassess her, however, he would point its tip at her breast, sharp and unwavering.  And each time, her breath would hitch, her pallor indicating that she could imagine no worse fate than being gored with her own knife.

Jack hid a humorless laugh.  He could imagine a million worse fates…

When at last he spoke, Aveline jumped in her chair, taken aback by the calm in his voice.

"What leads a lady to insinuate, to a man of ill virtue no less, that she ought to be viewed as a possession?"

Scarlet mortification conquered her pallor, and Jack watched somewhat uneasily as she wrung her trembling hands.  "I have, my entire life, been treated and traded as a form of legal tender.  I suppose I do tend to think of myself as such."

The tortured look in her eyes confused him, for he could not discern whether she believed what she spoke.  At the very least, the words had upset her a great deal, and he imagined that the humiliation of being assigned a value in pieces of eight by a rogue pirate was still fresh in her mind.

He couldn't hold himself responsible for that, however; she'd brought that humiliation upon herself.

"And this," he asked huskily, dangling the dagger between two fingertips.  

Aveline licked her lips, and he wondered what they might have tasted like had he half a mind to notice earlier.

"My unfinished business in Le Havre," she explained, "is killing a man."

He nodded slowly.  "A man who has committed some sort of crime."

"Not in a lawful sense," she admitted.  "In a moral sense."

"I see."  He flipped the dagger up in the air, catching it in its tumbling descent with ease.  "And who is this criminal chap?"

Aveline bit her lip.  "Captain Sparrow, I would really rather we didn't discuss—"

"We're discussing it," he demanded, pointing the blade at her once more.  The rate of her breathing increased and her eyes grew large.  "I wasn't kidding when I said no more horseshit."

She balked at his profanity but surrendered the information nonetheless.  "My father.  He… sold me… when I was very little."

"Sold you to whom?" Jack pressed, though he already knew the answer.  

Aveline looked away, but he grabbed her by the chin and snapped her gaze back to his.  She stared up at him in mixed fear and anger, powerless to do anything else.  "A pirate.  Captain Edward Savage of the Unforgiven."

Jack squatted down before her, seeking the eyes that had once again managed to break their contact with his.  "What did he want ye for, lass?"

Tears sprung into her eyes, and she fought against his hold on her.  "Please," she begged, squeezing her lids shut in an effort to avoid his penetrating glare.  "Can't you see that I am terrified?  I will cause no further trouble, I swear it."

Grumbling in frustration, Jack relented, unable to push the broken lass any further.  He released her face and took her hand instead.  She kept her eyes closed to him as he opened her palm.  Stroking the soft flesh with his calloused thumb, he told her in a voice barely audible that things would be all right, watching as the tension eased from her shoulders before pressing the dagger's silver handle into her hand and closing her fingers around it.  One lovely green eye opened, then the other, both narrowed in confusion yet glittering with hope.  Jack made sure she was watching his face before he continued.

"I intend to protect ye, lass," he informed her gruffly.  "It is a priority.  But after tonight, I realize that protecting you also means giving you the means to protect yourself."  He stood then, looking down into her disbelieving eyes with intensity.  "But heed my word, love.  You'll not cause any more trouble for me or my crew, lest you be forced to use that dagger to protect yourself against me.  Savvy?"

She barely nodded, her voice a whisper.  "Savvy."

Accepting the fragile echo as word enough, Jack decided to leave her alone, let his actions sink in.  With no parting words, he exited the cabin, bumping right into Matelote as he shut the door behind him.

"Someone t' see ye, Cap'n…"

The door was closed and the captain gone before Aveline could make any sense of what had just transpired.  The cold silver calmed her flesh where the gentle chafe of his touch had excited it, and Aveline wondered what had inspired such kind forgiveness in the man.

_But he had forgiven nothing,_ she reminded herself, sobering to the reality of Jack's actions.  It was a bribe, a trick, a tool meant to keep her at bay.  Fingering the feathery engravings on the dagger's hilt, she supposed she could accept that.  And yet, she couldn't help but wonder if what her gut told her was correct – there was a kindness, a caring, hidden beneath the captain's threatening veneer.  

And what if there is?  He's given you plenty of reasons to be afraid of him.

He had.  She was.  But her guilt at having caused him such strife – _"a man I called friend"_ – now overrode her fear.  _Does he see good in me?_  Excitement bubbled within her.  Perhaps if she could just thank him, he would see that what he'd done for her meant a lot, and she intended to do right by him from here on out.

First placing her dagger on Jack's nightstand, she rushed to the door and out onto the main deck…

The sight of dark skin laced into a snug, white cotton dress stopped her dead in her tracks.  

The flush of excitement in Aveline's cheeks faded, leaving her bone white as she gazed upon the tender exchange between Captain Sparrow and an exotic beauty, no doubt the cause of his partial undress earlier that evening.  She drew this conclusion as the island woman handed him his coat and hat, followed by a scroll of paper wrapped in twine.

She knew not why, but she fell victim to a stab of envy then.

One hundred pieces of eight.

Of course.  How had she managed to forget about that?  Kind words, that's how.

Aveline backed slowly toward Jack's cabin, her eyes glued to her captain as he escorted the raven-haired beauty to the gangplank, his hand placed intimately at the small of her back.

Of course.

Why the sight so wounded her, she couldn't say.  Nor was the soft ache in her chest something she wished to address.

A secret part of her crushed, she retreated to the cabin and undressed, slipping into the oversized tunic Jack had given her as a nightrail.  She crawled into bed, though she was hardly tired.  Her face found a safe hiding place in the deep curve of the feather pillow, for she could no longer bear the burning disappointment in Jack's eyes, especially if she couldn't bring herself to apologize.

He doesn't need you to apologize.  He needs you to keep your distance… 

Of course.

One hundred pieces of eight.


	11. Company

AN:  *belabored sigh* I'm SORRY this took so long.  Trust me, I have an ample list of good reasons for the delay in updating, ranging from writer's block to holidays to exams to more holidays, coupled with numerous rewrites of the juicy parts.  For the record, there would be no chapter ten without the goddess Nimue, whose persistent nagging and admirable devotion to inspiring me have earned her muse status.  *feeds Nimi a cookie*  The lovely lass also beta'd this one for me; she is a muse of many talents.  If you still haven't raided her work, go forth, now!  Nimue manages to update both of her PotC series AND crank out the occasion, *delectable* quickie.  And for this, I am eternally grateful.

And so you all know, this is the last update I will be posting to fanfiction.net, for a variety of reasons.  So if you would like to continue reading the story, my advice to you is to email me at quinntette@yahoo.com, or email the lovely Nimue at nymuea@yahoo.com, and request to be added to our mailing list.  That said, enjoy the read.

Yours truly,

Quinn

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
    
    _I had skin like leather and the diamond-hard look of a cobra _
    
    _ I was born blue and weathered but I burst just like a supernova _
    
    _ I could walk like Brando right into the sun_
    
    _ Then dance just like a Casanova..._
    
    ~Bruce Springsteen, "It's Hard to be a Saint in the City"

(Bruce, Bruce, ahhh...)

~*~*~

Time had never passed so slowly for Captain Jack Sparrow, and yet, when a week had finally elapsed, he wondered if he wouldn't be dead of old age before the end of the next.  Aveline had taken great care to avoid him, remaining locked in his cabin while he spent the day on deck and evacuating her sanctuary only when he sought to enter it.  For a while he had puzzled over how she managed to keep occupied in there all day long, but clues began presenting themselves around the third day.

For one, her dress fit better, though not perfectly.  She had managed to adjust it at the hem and about the waist that the sight of her garbed in the grossly oversized garment was no longer comical.  In addition to the discarded strips of black satin littering the floor beneath his bed, there were books.  His books, unearthed from a trunk – one of many trunks – which led him to believe that she'd gone snooping.  It had compelled him to question this, but the urge had vanished when he'd realized they were keeping her happy, at least distracted, when she was obviously miserable.  Which led him to the third bit of disturbing evidence: the dagger.

The dagger had settled on his nightstand the very night he'd given it to her and had not moved so much as a hair's breadth since.  This bothered Jack something awful.  He'd expected that her pretty face would soon be covered in cuts from sleeping with the blasted thing, but on the contrary, it seemed as though she hadn't even touched it.

Jack, for his part, had tried to investigate her odd behavior in a variety of ways.  The subtle approach had proven immediately fruitless, as three nights of taking silent dinners with the girl had led him to taking dinner with the crew instead.  He'd taken a glimpse at her choices of reading but found nothing other than the standard Shakespeare and Greek mythology, works a well-educated lady had no doubt already memorized and which she had obviously been using to simply pass the time.  He'd sat up a few nights, listening for clues as to what plagued her to make themselves known in slumber, but all he had to show for his efforts were the bags beneath his eyes and a bothersome yawn.  All the while, Gibbs had watched from afar as Jack continually failed to persuade the girl to open up to him, until at last the younger man had snapped and informed his first mate that his own efforts would be _greatly_ appreciated, if he honestly thought he could do a better job.

And so, about an hour earlier, Gibbs had breached the threshold of Aveline's daytime sanctuary, outside of which Jack now anxiously paced.  When at last the older man emerged, Jack all but grabbed him by the lapels of his vest and shook the information from him.

"What'd she say, mate?"

Gibbs' bemused smile did little to allay his unease.  "She says she's merely tryin' to do right by ye, Jack."

"Do right by me?" he bellowed.  "How is avoiding me and making me to feel like an intruder in my own cabin doing right by me?"

"Jack," Gibbs' voice took on a soothing tone.  "She's just a scared little girl.  She doesn't want to upset you again."

"Well, I daresay she's failing miserably," he spat through clenched teeth.  "I said I'd have her worshipping the deck I walk on in a week's time, and I don't like being put off schedule."

Gibbs chuckled.  "Is that what this is about?  I don't think ye'll be havin' any trouble there, she's ready an' willin' to obey yer every command."

Jack cocked a skeptical eyebrow.  "Is that so?"

"Aye.  And if you turn on a little o' the ol' Jack Sparrow charm, maybe she'll even wiggle around whilst she's layin' beneath ye."

Jack gave his beard a thoughtful scratch as his first mate returned to his post.  Testing the doorknob to the cabin, he found it unlocked, and he edged into the room as quickly as possible, slammed the door, and pressed his weight against it to prevent her flight.

Aveline looked up from her book, paling at the sight of Jack eying her ruttishly from the door.  His eyes were narrowed in smoky reverence, and had she not been shocked beyond reason, Aveline might have wondered what she had done to earn such a smoldering gaze.

"Did you need something, Captain Sparrow?" she asked timidly, her fingers curling tightly around the book's edge.

"Aye," he replied huskily, flashing her a roguish grin, and Aveline was awed by her heart's rapid increase in rhythm.  She remembered the night he'd killed Kursar, the disturbing little tingle she'd felt in response to the frighteningly masculine, frighteningly attractive sight of him, partly undressed and brandishing arms… That disturbing little tingle seemed to have returned.  

Jack swaggered toward her with a measured pace, and Aveline's jaw dropped as she realized his hips led his gait.  Her eyes were glued to the his out-thrust pelvis, entranced by the gentle, hypnotizing swing of the silk scarf hanging low on his waist.  _Dear God._

He stopped suddenly, his pelvis poised mere inches from her face, and she lifted her gaze to find him grinning down at her, his eyes cloudy with what she imagined was naught else but desire.  

"Don't look so scared, lass," he drawled.  His voice was low, rough, carnal, and confident, and when he drove the artful fingers of one hand through the golden waves at the crown of her head, Aveline nearly swooned.  "It's just ol' Jack."

His expression turned serious then, concentrated in its passion.  He stepped behind her chair to place two cunning hands on either side of her nape and began diligently working the muscles there, his magical touch melting the tension from her shoulders with supernatural ease.

Catching a glimpse of her wanton expression in the mirror, Aveline was startled by her abandoned reaction to his ministrations and sprang to attention in her chair.  Turning her back to her reflection, she twisted free of the pirate's hold and stared up at him in quandary.   

"What are your intentions, Captain Sparrow?"

He slanted her a look of hazy confusion.  "My intentions?"

She nodded.  "Are you trying to seduce me?"

Jack gasped, clutching a hand to his chest in mock appall.  "By the saints, girl.  What on Earth would give you _that_ idea?"  He paced to the nightstand and deftly lifted the dagger, twirling it between his index fingers before throwing her a suggestive wink, his lips pursed in an allusive fashion.  

Aveline eyed the dagger as realization dawned on her.  A favor for a favor.

One hundred pieces of eight.

"Captain Sparrow?" she asked meekly, remembering the dark beauty who had known the pleasure of his touch only days before.  "Wouldn't a man your age prefer the company of a woman with more experience?"

His kohl-lined eyes widened in alarm.  "A man my age?  How old do you take me for?"

She shrugged innocently.  "I imagine you're at least thirty."

The wolfish grin returned.  "Thirty.  Aye, that sounds about right."  Returning the dagger to its spot on the nightstand, he sidled close to her once more, tracing the smooth curve of her cheek with the backs of his knuckles.  "And no, love.  A patient sparrow often finds the sweetest nectar in a flower whose petals have yet to open."

She swallowed hard, knowing that he'd already made up his mind and she could do naught but obey him.  Rising on shaky legs, she marched to the rumpled bed and fell backward into its softness.  She lay spread-eagled, eyelids squeezed tightly shut as she awaited the invasion that had become her duty to endure.

When that invasion failed to come, she sat bolt upright, eying the motionless pirate captain with nervous suspicion.  "What is it?"

Jack moved nary an inch, thrown entirely off-balance by her strange behavior.  "What are you doing, Aveline?" he asked flatly.

She gasped; it was the first time he'd called her by her first name.  It sounded different, rolling evenly off the tip of the devil's forked tongue.  "I'm submitting to your will, as you wish it," she explained.

Gibbs' words echoed in the back of Jack's mind: _"She's ready an' willin' to obey yer every demand."_

Christ, this wouldn't do…

He hadn't planned to corrupt the girl just yet, since doing so would destroy his chances to achieve immortal status.  Rather, he'd meant simply to warm her to his touch, perhaps give her a taste of the maddening pleasure a man – nay, _Captain Jack Sparrow_ – could inflict, were he able to crack the lock at her knees.  The lock opening of its own accord, however, had been a disconcerting sight, and while Jack wasn't one to shun a beautiful woman throwing herself at the mercy of his mouth, he certainly wasn't about to take advantage of an unwilling girl.  

No matter how willing she pretended to be.

"Stand up, love.  I can't bear to see you looking so helpless."

Completely taken aback, Aveline complied.  "But I thought–"

"Dine with me tonight," he practically ordered.  "That's all I ask of you."

Dazed, she nodded.  "All right."

Offering her a weary smile, Jack left her presence then, returning her to the safety of solitude.

~*~*~

When the ship's gentle sway ceased an hour later, Aveline was immediately unsettled.  _Why have we stopped?_  Daring to emerge from Jack's cabin, she sought out her captain and found that they had dropped anchor offshore of another island.  

This time, Aveline was much less demanding in her inquiry.  Sighting Jack at the helm, she approached him tentatively and kept a respectful distance, begging his pardon before questioning his actions.  "Why have we stopped, Captain Sparrow?"

Jack looked down his nose at her with the most serious of expressions.  "Because we're out of rum.  Can't go any further without the rum."  _Especially if I'm to be makin' an effort to take meals with you again…_

Aveline cast a skeptical glance toward the shore.  "We're going ashore just for rum?"

"Aye."

"And what port is this?"

"This is Nassau, its cays and coves the ideal cache for any seafarin' scoundrel.  I myself have a horde on the island."

Aveline arched her pretty brows.  "Treasure?"

Jack rolled his eyes.  "No, love.  _Rum._"  

"And what, pray tell Captain, is so remarkable about rum?"

Grabbing the motionless wheel, Jack leaned backward and eyed her with disbelief.  "Haven't ye ever had yourself a swig of rum, love?"

"No.  Despite my unconventionality, I do believe I am considered a _lady_ by those with whom I keep company."

"Is that so?"  He stroked one of the twin braids at his chin.  "We'll have to do something to remedy that.  You're in the company o' pirates now, and no pirate wants to tolerate the company of a _lady._"  He offered her his arm, the gesture overdramatic and ironic as Jack was wont to be, and though she was skeptical of his intent, Aveline accepted.  

Less than an hour later, they found themselves in one of Nassau's rowdier taverns, Jack happily soused and spinning tales at the bar, while Aveline sat, bored and bitter, at their table.  Jack had given her a taste of the awful infusion, all right, and when she had all but gagged on that one little burning nip, he'd lost interest in her, abandoning her education in the finer points of debauchery in favor of highlighting his own finer points for a crowd of admiring drunkards.    

She traced one pretty pale finger over the cracks in the wooden table.  She thought to ask Jack to escort her back to the Pearl, but looking over at him, ranting and gesturing like a damned fool, she couldn't bear to interrupt his fun.  

"Ken I buy ye a drink, lassie?"  The thick Scottish brogue came from behind her, and Aveline turned to find a robust, redheaded, and rather handsome sailor looming over her.  His sleeves were torn off at the shoulder, exposing finely toned arms to her – admiring? – eye, and Aveline eyed his griffin tattoo with interest.  How exotic…

"I'm afraid I'm not a fan of drink.  But I thank you for your offer," she said, flashing him a sweet smile.  

"Perhaps ye might appreciate a bit o'company, then?" he asks, sitting down beside her before she could reply.  

Aveline cast Jack a glance, and found him rather engaged in his babble.  "I suppose I wouldn't mind the company."

The Scot grinned, leaning forward to assess her.  "What's yer name, lassie?" His pale blue eyes examined the line of her slender neck, a grin barely curving the corners of his lips.

"Aveline Hartwell.  And yours, sir?"

The pirate chuckled at being called 'sir' and, sidling closer to Aveline, slid his thick arm around her waist.  "It's Fearghas MacLeod," he rumbled.

Aveline's eyebrows flew sky high.  "Fearghas?"

"Aye.  Means 'man of vigor' in the Gaelic tongue."

"Does it now…"  For a moment, Aveline feared she might laugh in the man's face, but his brawniness easily stifled the urge for her.  It could not, however, repress the tiny smirk that curled the corners of her lips.  "T'is a pleasure to meet you, Fearghas."  

"Aye, and t'is an extreme pleasure t' meet you," he boomed, drawing her up against his massive frame.  He moved one meaty finger to caress her soft cheek.  "Y'ever been on a pirate ship before, lass?"

~*~*~

"…and they made me their chief."

The crowd around him erupted into a bout of intoxicated laughter, which amused Jack to no end since each and every one of them had heard the story ten times over.  Sighing complacently, he looked through the throng of drunkards to check on Aveline… 

…and nearly hurled his empty tankard across the bar.

There she sat, cozying up to some hulking redheaded brute, the smile she wore one Jack himself had not even seen.  Seething, he slammed down the tankard and charged across the tavern, splaying his fingers against the weather-beaten table and leaning forward.  "Can I help you, mate?"

"Captain Sparrow!" Aveline exclaimed, laughing melodically.  "This is Fearghas MacLeod.  He's going to give me a tour of his ship."

"The hell he is," Jack snapped tautly, reaching forward and grabbing Aveline's hand.  "Time to go."

"Hold on a second there, laddie," Fearghas interrupted, raising a meaty hand while rising from his chair to hover above Jack.  "Seems to me the lassie was enjoyin' me company."

Jack tilted his head back in order to meet the burly Scotsman's eye.  "Was enjoyin' yer company, mate.  And it's been a delight for you, I'm sure.  But we really do need to be heading on our way."  Not breaking the man's gaze, he gave Aveline's arm a tug.  

Brashly, Fearghas dropped his meaty hand, landing it forcefully against Jack's forearm, and preventing him from pulling Aveline any further.  Jack raised an incredulous brow, and for a long moment, Aveline stood between the two men, anxiously anticipating her captain's next move.  She wondered for a moment if he won't snap at the man's audacity to lay a hand on him, _*him,* _Captain Jack Sparrow of the Black Pearl… And sure enough, in Jack's next move, he did something so shocking, Aveline wondered if any daring display of heroics could have topped it.

He released her.

She watched in disbelief as Jack stepped away, eyes narrowed and nostrils a bit flared, his jaw twitching a little and his stance a little less proud as he turned and walked toward the tavern entrance.  Flinching a bit, she scrutinized him, trying to figure out what the matter was… Was his ego wounded?  His pride?  Was he frightened of the impressive Scot?  Surely not…

As he approached the door, Jack's usually fluid body was frozen with tension, and he ground his teeth with suppressed anger.  Who the hell did she think she was, anyhow?  Wasn't he making a great sacrifice by traveling so far for her to exact a little revenge?  Hadn't he already killed in her defense?  And this was how she repaid him?  By cuddling up to some broad-shouldered, muscular redhead with a brainless brogue and some ship that likely no one had ever heard of?  Listening to his own thoughts, Jack suddenly stopped in his tracks as realization dawned and dread settled in.  He was jealous.  Wholeheartedly, yet inexplicably, unbelievably jealous.  The unusual emotion attacked his senses like a whiff of opium, paralyzing him and rendering him nearly incapable of processing the passionate words spilling from the lips of Aveline as she hollered in the background.  

"Who do you think you are, you bloody lug?  Do you know who that is?  That's Captain Jack Sparrow, the most fearsome, most revered pirate in all the Spanish Main!  Hundreds are the tales he can tell of his grand adventures, and you'd be a fool to add yourself to the list of witless imbeciles who have been cut down by the edge of his cunning."

Her statement caught the ears of many tavern patrons, but nestled somewhere dark in the back of Jack's own mind.  It was Fearghas' booming response that finally snared his attention.  

"Was the most fearsome, lassie.  Ol' Captain Jack's all washed up.  Wee thing like yerself kenna go on believin' in tales o' banshees and brownies.  Wouldn't ye like t'know th' touch o' a *****real***** man, lass?"  

Before the rugged Scot knew what was happening, he found himself flat-backed on the floor, the point of a cutlass nudging his Adam's apple.  The simple kick that had knocked his enormous feet out from under him had been so quick, it had gone unseen by most.  But Aveline's keen eyes had caught everything, and were now pinned in admiration to the dashing scallywag who had come to her – or was it his own? – defense.  

"Hairy fellow, you are," Jack commented roughly, dragging the blade's edge to the neckline of the man's tunic, indicating the burst of red curls emerging from within before dragging the cutlass downward, to the crotch of Fearghas' britches.  "I wonder if I shaved a bit you'd still consider yourself a *real* man, hmm?"

Aveline's eyes went as wide as Fearghas went pale, a few beads of sweat dotting his brow as he contemplated the loss of his _manhood._  

"Or perhaps you're a eunuch already, and your unfortunate physical shortcoming is what has inspired this emasculating display of stalwart bravado."  The crowd burst into laughter, and Jack flashed a crooked grin, the low lamplight of the tavern throwing a glint of mischief off one gold tooth.  "And if that is the case, you wouldn't particularly mind if I—"

"No!" Fearghas exclaimed, raising two meaty paws in meek defense.  "No-no-no, Cap'n Sparrow, anythin' but that!  Put me out o' me misery before ye go pilfering the family jewels!"

"Pilfering them?"  Jack grimaced, raising his sword.  "Now that's an idea even I find abhorrent.  Nay, _laddie,_ I believe I'll be letting you keep your priceless pearls today, that you will always remember it as the day you were almost pitilessly castrated by Captain Jack Sparrow."  

Another round of laughter and a stunning smile from Jack, and Aveline found herself being led from the rowdy tavern by the hand.  Out into the street they went, Jack all but dragging her along as he walked tall, his bearded chin held high, his theatrical swagger somehow more dramatic.  But something was wrong.  Something was different.  Something was… painful.

Giving her arm a slight shake, Aveline hissed a bit under the hard clench of Jack's hand on her wrist.  "Captain Sparrow?  You're hurting me…"  But he simply tugged harder, causing her to lurch forward as he led her deeper and deeper into the unfamiliar town, then into a dark alleyway.  "Captain Sparrow?"

He whipped her around before she could even gauge her surroundings, and she instantly felt her back being pressed roughly against the side of a building of some sort, the splintered wood scratching her skin through her gown as Jack's lips suddenly and aggressively plundered her own.  His tongue swept out to raid the cavern of her mouth in a kiss so domineering and decadent that she nearly swooned before realizing that she was kissing him back. 

Jack felt a surge of need rush straight to his groin as he pinned and possessed her.  His hands held her shoulders square against the unyielding wall as he raided her senses with his incursive kiss, high on the adrenaline rush of pure masculine hegemony.  Despite his control, however, he was unprepared to feel her tiny hands touch the nape of his neck, sliding up to tangle in his unruly black mane, and unprepared for her innocent mouth to willingly yield its sweetness to him, the petal lips parting with ease, her tongue daring to entwine with his own.  Unprepared for her to lean forward as he retreated, seeking to recapture his kiss, to keep him close.  Unprepared for the look of confusion and disappointment in her hazy green eyes.

"Jack?"

The solitary note of his name couldn't have been more bewitching had it been uttered by a siren, and Jack narrowed his smoky eyes as he regarded her with curiosity.  He dropped his hands to his sides, waggling his fingers a moment before stilling them to raise one hand, which hovered near her breast for a mere moment before advancing, skirting the supple mound beneath the silk, his palm gently teasing her nipple to a peak with nothing but a hair's graze.  And all the while, he watched her eyes.

Aveline's breath hitched, her mind whirled.  His touch was practically imperceptible, but the energy between them seized her.  She closed her eyes in awful delight, unable to face him as she emitted a soft moan of desire as his hand retreated, only to curl that he could skim the backs of his knuckles over the hardened tip of her breast.  And to her absolute horror, she shuddered with want.  The sensations he had awakened within her with such a seemingly harmless touch so terrified her that she suddenly gripped his wrist, stopping him at once before he drove her completely mad with indecent lust.   

Jack couldn't suppress the satisfied grin that crept over him, and he was glad she had kept her eyes shut to him that she could not witness the absolute gloating he was certain shone in his eyes.  "Something wrong, love?" he asked huskily, oblivious to the teasing tone that complicated his otherwise simple question.

Her eyelids flew open, her gaze unsure.  She breathed heavily, the little pants bringing an array of exertive activities to Jack's dirty mind.  He imagined her, flushed and breathless, her pale thighs spread for him, shaky knees supporting her as she straddled his face…

"Did I make you uncomfortable?" he rasped.

She nodded.  T'was true.  The warm honey slicking the juncture of her thighs was, if nothing else, dreadfully uncomfortable.  As was the coil of need that had begun tightening low in her belly…

Smiling proudly, Jack bowed his head, his damp lips all but touching her ear as his warm breath tickled the sensitive shell.  "I imagine it will be far worse the next time you decide to invite the attentions of another man.  Savvy?"

The last world sent a hard shock coursing through her veins and she nodded weakly, practically stuttering her response.  "S-savvy."

Grinning at her compliance, Jack pivoted handsomely, moving away from her with a sway of the hips that begged – no, not begged, never begged – demanded she follow.  And slowly but surely, she did, followed him all the way back to the Pearl, the wetness between her legs greasing the journey a bit.  Lord, but she was dreadfully uncomfortable…

"Captain!"  Gibbs' voice called, rough with worry, from the rail of the Pearl as Jack and Aveline approached.  

"Aye, mate?" Jack hollered back, raising a hand to shield his black eyes from the glare of the setting sun.

The first mate frowned, gesturing frantically for Jack to come aboard.  The captain picked up his pace, reaching a hand back to Aveline, who grasped it tentatively and allowed him to all but drag her aboard.  When they reached the deck, he released her, crossing the distance between him and Gibbs with a few long strides and taking the spyglass the shorter man offered.  "What is it?" he asked gruffly, lifting the spyglass to one eye.

"We've got company."


End file.
